


Homeward Bound

by SheyRicci



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyRicci/pseuds/SheyRicci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's away from home, Dean's at home bored, and Kevin wants to run away from home. Because if Dean had just listened to Sam, everyone would be safe at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me and formatting on this site are never going to get along, so... I admit defeat, I cede, I give up, I quit...done, over...deal with it.

Kevin pushed spaghetti around his plate with his fork; boiled noodles, heated tomato sauce from a jar topped with meatballs from a frozen bag and canned parmesan cheese. Yay! He sighed, chin cupped in his hand. Well…beat fried hot dogs, right? He looked at the slice of yellow – might be lemon – cake (he knew better than to bring pie home) sitting pretty in a plastic container. All bought and cooked and prepared and served and consumed by…..himself.

Okay, yeah, for the first time in a long time – years – he felt safe. He liked it here in this bunker that his roommates – for lack of anything better to call them – called home. It was large and spacious, had any and all amenities one could think to ever need and he even had his own room. The library was awesome and the history to be learned from it was limitless but…. he was lonely. The brothers were hardly ever home and when they were…..well, no one would ever call them social. They returned to heal from injury or recover from some spell or hex or curse or lack of sleep or to research and Good God Amighty, did they luuuh-uf-uuvvee to research.

And as for friends or coworkers or family or associates - well sure, there was that red-headed girl but she didn't come by often, never stayed if the brothers weren't home and treated him like he was ten. Oh, and there was Garth…well…..fat lot of good he'd done protecting Kevin on the boat so, no, Garth need not apply for position of playmate. There was their resident in the dungeon but Kevin wasn't supposed to go anywhere near him, not that he wanted to, and there was Castiel but he'd gone out to live among humans.

Yeah, was his life fucked up or what? And when had it become so?

He sighed again and stabbed a meatball. He rarely went out, and when he did venture past the doors of his comfortable sanctuary, it was to go no further than the local library or the grocery store. Those advance placement classes sure had paid off! Why, he'd come up with an alias and believable address in order to apply and receive a library card all on his very own! Woot-hoot! The town was small, very small and he had no car to get to the next town…oh wait, yeah, he'd found an ancient bicycle. Woot. No woot-hoot, just…woot.

Could his life get any worse? Probably. Any better? Well…

Ohohohohoho! There'd been an addition to his staid, lonely life; to his 'duties'. In addition to calling and asking for, on-the-spot-I-need-it-right-now-no-it-can't-wait information and demanding, what-do-you-mean-you-don't-know-why answers, the brothers now called for and expected, you-don't-have-time-you-need-to-come-up-with-a-convincing-lie-now back-up and alias support.

Yeah, sure, let me drop everything and stop trying to crack these words and codes and depictions also-known-as the word of god, while I ignore my murdering enemy in the dungeon, 'cause, hey, who needs to know if there are any more tablets harmful to all of mankind and the earth upon which we live and assure whatever backwards county sheriff you managed to piss off this time, you are indeed Feds or Marshalls or Homeland Security or CDC officials or whatever the fuck you dreamed up this time.

Wasn't that Garth's job?

Ivy League University education – here I don't come.

And if that wasn't enough to keep him occupied, demands for answers and explanation and history and lore from books and recipes and whatnot were forever being thrown at him. Find this, explain this, answer this, solve this. And oh! oh! hey Kevin, find a local store where we can buy this or steal that or obtain what we need to replenish our depleted restock of never-heard-of before, one-of-a-kind ingredients to make hex bags and spells and wards and sigils and symbols and antidotes.

Uh, hello? What part of one-of-a-kind, did they not get? If it's one of a kind, where the hell did they expect him to find more? And expect they did, right then and there. Oh yes, they were 'now' men. Both of them. And man, what they needed to carry with them or have on hand was endless, limitless and in constant need of being resupplied. If he wasn't researching, reading, shopping, brewing or cooking some cure or spell or curse, he was taking inventory and categorizing what killed what.

He'd naïvely believed he'd learned everything he needed to know about demons while on the run and hiding from Crowley. What a slap in the face to find out he'd barely scratched the surface of demon lore and knowledge. And that was just demons. The world in which the brothers lived…..well, he needed a life time of experience to gain as much information that either brother could rattle off.

Lamb's blood, silver bullets, rock salt bullets, spray paint, bronze or brass or silver daggers, angel feathers and blades, holy oil, dream root, salt, holy water, rosary's, flare's, flamethrowers...and on and on and on and etcetera and so forth. The meaning of wards and talismans and symbols and angel banishing sigils and tattoos and charms and incantations and summoning spells was all a jumble in his tired brain.

His buzzing cell interrupted his morose pouting. He sighed again. Which brother wanted what this time? He snorted, like he needed to even look at the phone to know. Wouldn't be Sam…no…Sam was away from home, the lucky dog. Dean was the one Kevin was stuck with at home, confined to the bunker by an irate, overset brother who didn't handle injury to his older sibling well. And it wasn't like Dean wasn't ok. Hell, he was fine. Little tender, a bruise or two, swollen joint here and there, the lumpy bump on his head had completely receded, and he barely walked with a limp anymore, only when first getting up after sitting for a lengthy while, so why the hell hadn't Sam taken his brother with him?

Kevin still didn't understand what had upset Sam so. Upset him so much that once Dean was awake and coherent he'd declared he needed some time and off he'd gone. No thought at all to Kevin. Didn't he think Kevin would have enjoyed the display of ancient manuscripts and books and scrolls? Did it not occur to him that something may have benefited Kevin in his never-ending quest to translate untranslatable script?

Apparently not and it wasn't fair. Kevin deserved a week off; deserved time away from the bunker and the brothers and the responsibilities and duties that had become his life. Dammit, he deserved something. Like time away from everyone's expectations and demands…he should have been the one allowed to go to the auction and bid on the book needed/wanted for the bunker library, with or without Sam. If Sam was so worried about Dean…he should have remained home with him. Not lay the ability to amuse and watch him on a teen-age kid who had no apparent hope of controlling a man who had no intentions of obeying or listening to anyone's orders.

What? They didn't trust Kevin to take care of himself and avoid trouble? Hell, he'd done just fine on his own when they both had, for whatever reason, been MIA. He should just pack up and leave. It'd be weeks before they even noticed he was gone. That'd show them! Aside from hot water and clean clothes and abundant food and heat and electricity and TV and internet and all those books to read, what did he have here anyway? Dean had shouted the walls down when he'd asked for a dog and really, he'd been a dick about it all. Well…he hedged...Dean hadn't said no to a cat, though Sam had mentioned Dean was allergic...so maybe two cats.

So, Sam got a week off huh? To himself? For himself? While Kevin was stuck home, challenged with a bored, restless, cranky Dean who texted him from three rooms away? Yeah, not gonna happen. Kevin grinned into his glass of milk as he responded to the text requesting his presence in the den. They had a den?

If this was home, he was quite sure he would run away. Far away. Far, far away.

***000***

Sam sipped his frothy sweet cappuccino while he eyed the warm croissant gooey with dripping icing and fat with warm apples, sitting invitingly on a plate at the tip of his fingers. He'd spent an enjoyable morning leisurely wandering around an exhibit of ancient manuscripts and scrolls and this afternoon, he'd attend an auction where those items and other books could be purchased. Was there a better way to spend the day? His mouth watered and he licked his lips in anticipation, dabbing a finger to scoop up some icing. He only indulged his sweet tooth when Dean wasn't around to tease him and by golly, he was going to enjoy every last flakey crumb, drip of icing and smidgeon of apple filling flavored with cinnamon and nutmeg.

His tablet connected to the coffee shops wi-fi and he logged on to his email account. Picking up his warm gooey croissant and taking a bite, he took a sip of coffee before making the hard decision which hand to free then set the cup down and clicked on the first email.

"Greetings, oh-wandering one, got that maple bookcase categorized you wanted done. Wood ladders are heavy. Dean helped me carry one up from the garage." _(photo attached of Dean standing on the top rung of the ladder) Sam scowled. What the fuck was the dumb ass doing carrying and climbing ladders? What part of, stay home, take it easy, and don't do anything stupid translated to, 'find and carry and climb a fucking ladder'? And if Kevin had done the categorizing, why had Dean been on the ladder?_

"Greetings, Kemosabe, your ever faithful sidekick Tonto reporting in. Got those silver bullets made you wanted. Guess what? Dean's teaching me to shoot!" _(photo attached) Sam scowled. Dean was playing with guns? What the hell was the matter with him? What did he think he was doing?_

"Greetings, oh-youngest-Winchester, Dean's an awesome cook. That new garbage disposal works great." _(photo attached) Sam scowled. What new garbage disposal? I'm gonna smack him with his fucking hammer for touching potentially dangerous tools that could, you know, take a finger off!_

"Hey Sam, your brother is awesome with cars. Changed that tire in like less than five minutes!" _(photos attached) Sam scowled. What the Fuck?! I'm gonna break his fucking knee cap with the FUCKING tire iron for lifting something as heavy as a fucking car tire. And, uh, what the hell was he doing driving the car?_

"Hey Sam, nice day or what? Hope you got to enjoy it. Sun was hot but I made sure he had plenty of water." _Sam scowled. Dean had been outside? What the fuck could he have found to do outside?_

"Hey Sam, just wait 'til you get back. You're gonna love the new lighting in the library!" _(photo attached) Sam scowled. Didn't Dean know they had no fucking clue how the electricity was supplied to the bunker or where it came from or why they had it? No, he knew. He just liked to do things to piss Sam off. And – again – the dumb ass was on a ladder._

"Wow, harder than I thought to keep an eye on him. He's like, never where I leave him. Whew!" _Sam scowled. What the fuck was he finding to do? Sam's parting instructions had been quite clear. Eat, sleep, watch porn. He shouldn't be leaving his god-damn bed._

"Dude's on a mission or quest or hunt or whatever to find a beehive." _Sam scowled. So that was what he'd been doing outside. If he even touches that beehive, (and find it he would, of that there was no doubt) I'll poke him with the same stick he used to rile those poor bees until he cries._

"Howdy Sam! Found it! Look at the size of this beehive?! How freaking cool is that? Dean thinks maybe he can make honey." _(photo attached) Make honey? I swear to God, I'm gonna lock him in the dungeon with Crowley._

"Hi-Ho Sam. You ever see a bee so huge! You think it might be an Asian Giant Hornet?" _(photo of bee in palm of hand attached)_ _Sam scowled. No mere bumble bee or yellow jacket or honey bee for Dean. Nope, course not._

"Gotta say, never thought the ole geezer could run so fast!" _(video attached, of Dean running, from a swarm of bees, screaming like a little girl.) Sam scowled. Served the son-of-a-bitch right, least I won't have to listen to him snivel. Hee-Hee! Good luck Kevin!_

"Okay, yeah so, ice, toothpaste, baking soda. Struck out! Dude sure did swell up." _(photo attached) Sam scowled. Was that a wrist or elbow or neck or all of the above?_

Sam sighed. Great, the congealed foam on the coffee rendered it no longer appealing, and the soggy sawdust formally known as his much anticipated croissant forced him to admit his snack was ruined. He dropped the pastry onto the plate, covered it with a napkin and pushed it away.

When he got home, he was going to relieve Kevin of his fucking camera phone.

He typed out a quick email informing Kevin of a tried and true bee sting remedy; equal parts vinegar, baking soda and meat tenderizer, guaranteed to quiet Dean's whines and whimpers – Kevin didn't deserve to suffer – and shut his tablet down. He was not going to jump to conclusions or call Dean or pack up and head home. He was going to the auction and bid on that book. They needed it. It was the entire reason he was in Scottsbluff, Nebraska and not home with Dean while he recuperated from being flopped around like a dog's favorite stuffed toy by a 300 lb. bar brawler possessed by an evil spirit.

'Cause really, how much trouble could a beehive be?

***000***

Sam climbed from the car, snagged his take-out dinner and fumbled for his key. All he wanted was to do was eat while it was hot, crawl into bed, and fall asleep watching TV. The auction had gone longer than he'd anticipated and he'd nearly left without waiting for the book to go up for auction. When it had, the bidding had started at a price that had made him choke. He hadn't expected to pay ½ as much as the opening bid! Dean was going to throw a fit he'd spent so much money. Aah, well, it had been worth both the time and the money spent. The book was an information gold mine that far exceeded Sam's expectations. He turned the TV on, munching on a piece of garlic bread as he took a chair at the table and sat down to remove his boots. Yeah….if he didn't head home tomorrow, he was gonna hafta visit the Laundromat, he was out of clean socks. He wandered into the bathroom, washed up, dressed for bed, grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down at the table to eat dinner.

He was tired, but even in his exhausted state there was no way he could FORGET he was blessed with Dean as a brother. Kevin's earlier emails still taunted him and he just had to know if there were any more. He'd told Kevin not to call him unless Dean had lost an eye or a limb or a catastrophe, such as finding a dent in the car, happened. He'd failed to mention no emails.

The tablet was in the car and, too lazy to go retrieve it, he booted up the laptop. He turned the TV stations until he found news and flipped open the pizza box. He'd turned his cell phone off while at the auction and though he didn't expect any messages, it was never a good idea to remain out of contact with Dean for long.

No voicemails, no missed calls….just…..1, 2, 3, 4…25 text messages. From Kevin. All of them. Over a period, of like, two hours. Ruh-Roh...

()()()()

_'Just to let you know, your tried and true magic cure all for treating bee stings? Yeah, epic fail man’._

_'Is Dean allergic to anything?'_

_'You know….I think he is….allergic, I mean….to bees.'_

_'Yeah, yeah…..definitely allergic or something.'_

_'Wow….ER's crowded.'_

_'Let the waiting commence.'_

_'Patience is not a virtue he possesses is it?'_

_'Chased him out the door when he tried to leave!'_

_'Aanndd…..still waiting.'_

_'Temper tantrum much?'_

_'What is he? Two?'_

_'Yeah, epic tantrum, man.'_

_'No Nurse, he's not with me. I've never seen him before in my life.'_

_'One way to see a doctor? Yeah, pass out on the floor.'_

_'Gotta go see him and I don't wanna.'_

_'Good God, he's a big baby.'_

_'Correction – spoiled brat.'_

_'New nurse, he appears to like this one.'_

_'All's good, doctor's a chick.'_

_'Holy Shit! I didn't carry on like that when my finger was CUT OFF!'_

_'Sam, you there? Call me….'_

_'They wanna know if he has any allergies to medications?'_

_'They wanna transport him to Wichita.'_

_'He got something against flying?'_

_'Memo to self: DO NOT PISS HIM OFF – EVER!'_

()()()()

Sam dialed Kevin's cell. He needed aspirin. A lot. Maybe the bottle. He should have known Dean wouldn't be content to remain idle at the bunker. Should have known, he would find trouble. Should have known he would ignore Sam's suggestions and demands and orders and teary-eyed pleas to remain home and take it easy and take his time getting back on his feet. No, he'd known, he'd just hoped….Aah well…an annoying Dean was an alive and counted for Dean.

Voicemail. Sam smirked, licking the garlic from a piece of bread as he waited for the end of Kevin's rambling rant so he could leave his message. So, Kevin was at the ER with Dean; Sam could easily guess the mood Dean was in. Served the little shit right. Kevin was always, Dean's oh-so-awesome, Mr. Cool Dude, the best….

Transport? Wichita? Fly?

Garlic bread was spat, not swallowed; beer bottle was up-ended, not drunk; pizza box was swept to the floor where sauce and cheese oozed into the carpet; papers scattered in every direction and the phone dropped unheeded as Sam whipped the laptop around and frantically began to tap.

Bees. Asian Hornets. Bee hives. Huge bees or wasps or hornets. Reactions. Allergic reactions. Symptoms. Travel time by car from Scottsbluff, Nebraska to Wichita, Kansas.

"Kevin? Hey, yeah, it's Sam. Hey let me know where you are? I'm leaving now to head home."


	2. Chapter 2

"OW!"

"Sit still." Kevin muttered, tweezers in one hand, large sewing needle in the other. "You big baby." he plucked a stinger from Dean's palm. "And shut up."

Dean tried, a-serious-effort-try, to stop squirming, but….no, sitting still was not gonna happen. He gave Kevin a cocky smirk in response to the kid's glare of death and eyed the towel of ice sitting on the table next to him. Kevin narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything, returning his attention to his work - removing the remaining stingers from Dean's fingers, wrist, forearm, and back of his hand. His left arm had taken the majority of the stings and he'd stopped counting after the removal of the 7th stinger, opting to swig from a bottle rather than pay attention to Kevin.

He had one free hand, Kevin not about to relinquish hold of his other, and he could either drink or hold ice on his arm. If he could grow as many hands at will as he wanted, when he wanted them, he could hold ice on every spot that stung _and_ drink _and_ let Kevin use his hand as a pin cushion _and_ punch Kevin in the nose for doing so! Despite his fondness for mind-numbing alcohol, ice provided the better relief and he abandoned his beloved bottle with a look of longing.

He wanted to go lie down. His head ached, his throat was raw and his nose had an annoying habit of running. Kevin must have tired of his sniffling for he plopped a box of tissues on the table and, with a look, wordlessly ordered Dean to use them instead of the towel of ice. Dean gave a grunt, friggin' little runt had been hanging around Sam too much. He tried to make a fist, but both his fingers and Kevin's grip prevented the motion. He matched Kevin's scowl, more to ignore the pain the attempt had caused than with any real irritation he had with the kid.

His fingers were puffy, red and swollen…..had he been stung on each and every fucking finger? Jesus Christ! Who knew bee stings could hurt sooooo much? Damn nose…..huh….was that his tongue or his lip? He had a tongue, right? Huh, wouldn't know, couldn't feel it, couldn't use it, didn't feel his teeth with it. Wow…..so, he'd been stung on his lip? And his mouth was…..swollen? He puckered up to blow a kiss...and couldn't breathe. His nostrils were blocked. Damn. He held the towel of ice to his face, the taste of the towel making him cough. Kevin yanked his hand down.

"Use. A. Tissue." Kevin said in disgust, without looking up. "Dude…." he stabbed deeper, the jab a bit harder than necessary. “Sit. Still."

Dean gave a non-committal grunt and buried his face in the towel of ice. Kevin was focused on his work, so other than an aggrieved sigh of capitulation; he let Dean have his way. By the sounds and grunts and groans, he'd say Dean was way too fond of his towel.

"Stop. Coughing." Kevin burst out, exasperated. "Sit. Still. Shut. Up. And. Be. Quiet." he might be irritated with Dean but he wasn't unaware of the situation. Dean was not being a dick just to amuse himself at Kevin's expense. He had in the beginning, sure, but not now. Now, the pain and discomfort was real. "And stop digging at your eyes. Scratching them like that won't help."

The only bee he knew of that left a stinger imbedded in the skin was a honey bee and these were no honey bee stings. He'd never seen such huge bees before and a quick search on the internet had identified what could be Asian Giant Hornets. Once he was done and Dean had gone on his merry way, Kevin would research bees a bit more. He had a couple Dean had killed while swatting at himself when they'd swarmed him. It was a good start. He couldn't find it within his heart to sympathize with Dean, who never should have bothered the hive to begin with, but oh-no, Mr. Can't-leave-well-enough-alone had to go and poke it – repeatedly, but he couldn't leave Dean to fend for himself either.

He grimaced, Dean's forefinger squeezed between his own, needle embedded deep enough to draw blood…yeah, no way to get at that stinger with mere tweezers. "Say, aah, you big baby…..you got a knife?"

"For what?" his eyes itched, their sockets dry and tight yet they constantly watered and man, his head hurt.

"Tweezers aren't gonna reach this one….needle ain't digging no deeper, but a knife….." his eyes widened when a scalpel was slapped onto the table. He didn't even ask where it had come from or how Dean had been able to procure it sitting at the table. It seemed the brothers could produce anything upon request. "Oh sure, sure…that'll work." he was hesitant to start slicing and cutting, not sure how his 'patient' would respond. He had no reason to worry; before Kevin had time to recall Dean hadn't protested being punctured repeatedly with a needle, the elder Winchester brother set the ice aside, picked up the scalpel and made the first cut. "DON'T DO THAT!" Kevin yelped. "GIMME THAT!" with a growl, he snatched the blade from Dean's hand and smacked his knuckles. "You…you…well, you're not supposed to do that!"

"Just get on it with so I can put something on these stings and go lie down. Ice ain't cutting it."

"Yeah…okay dude." Kevin dug with the tip of the scalpel, Dean tensed but remained still. "I'm not an expert on bee stings…I'll look it up when I'm done."

"Toothpaste." Dean announced. "How many more?"

"Couple is all….'less you got stung somewhere else?"             

"Don't think so."

Kevin glanced up through his bangs, might be time for a haircut he thought as he blew his breath out in an attempt to dislodge them from hanging in his eyes. Was Dean slurring his words? How much had he drunk anyway? "Wow, you sure do swell up." he commented, then fell silent, concentrating on his work. "Okay, done….toothpaste you say?"

***000***

Kevin sat the table with an orange soda. It was past dinner time but he'd had pasta for lunch and though loathe to admit it, digging around in human skin and flesh had dampened his enthusiasm for food, so he'd sliced an apple into wedges to munch on while he identified the huge killer bees. He was exhausted and he hadn't done anything more than spend the day with Dean. How the hell did Sam do it day in, day out, every day, all day and not, you know, experience road rage or something? Kevin logged on to his laptop and brought up his favorite search engine. He'd expected to hear back from Sam but other than the short email with what turned out to be a useless suggestion, there'd been no communication from the younger brother; the prick.

How could a grown man carry on so about a few bee stings? Geesch. Ice didn't help the swelling, neither toothpaste nor baking soda eased the sting or removed the heat from the surrounding skin and after searching the entire kitchen for meat tenderizer, (who ever heard of such a remedy?), to make Sam's cure-all only for it to fail, Kevin admitted defeat. Not even the antihistamine he'd nagged Dean into taking had had any effect.

Dean was miserable and he wasn't faking his discomfort. His left arm, from fingernails to shoulder was swollen and red and every site where a bee stinger had been removed was inflamed. There were a couple on the back of his shoulder and one or two on his neck and no position he found to lie, gave him relief. Kevin had been relieved when Dean had gone off, painted in toothpaste and baking soda and Sam's recipe to lie down, savoring the quiet and the solitude.

Okay, click-clack, bite of apple, click-clack, gulp of soda, click-click, open, open, close, close, open…hmmm, maybe…no…more yellow, less orange, close, click-clack, damn, that was a good apple, organic, Sam had said, click-click-click, open….yeah…..that was a closer match.…..Japanese Giant Hornet….not much, if any difference between Asian Giant Hornet and Japanese…..huh….what was that? Whoa, wait a minute, hold on, back up, swing that boat around and pick me up 'cause I done fell off the inner tube…...

Injects large amounts of venom? Attacks nervous system? Damages tissue? Known to cause anaphylactic shock in allergic people? Can be lethal to non-allergic people? People stung more than 10 times should seek medical help? Get emergency treatment for more than 30 stings? Stings can cause renal failure? Multiple deaths occurred every year from being stung?

What the bloody fuck kind of bees were these?!

Snack abandoned, Kevin raced to Dean's room. He was sure there was nothing to worry about, Dean hadn't once said he was allergic to bee stings or anything else…..but…..well…..after commenting that nothing was easing the painful welts and ice wasn't reducing any of the swelling, he'd grown uncharacteristically quiet and gone off to lie down.

Wouldn't hurt to check on him, right?

"Dude? You asleep yet?" he didn't wait to be granted admission, just threw the door open. "Dean?" he switched on a light. "Oh. Fuck. Me."

Kevin had never seen anyone suffer from anaphylaxis before, had never seen anyone throw a severe allergic reaction to anything, but he was damn sure he was seeing one now. Swollen lips and nose, eyes swollen shut, cheeks puffy and red, shallow breaths, panted gasps, heaving chest. Curiosity turned to concern, concern to worry, worry to panic, and panic turned to frantic, out-of-his mind actions.

He herded and prodded and poked and dragged and maneuvered the much larger, heavier man on the bed until he got him on his feet, even if he did weave and sway and slump against the wall. Kevin ignored his incoherent ramblings about killer bees and vats of hot liquid burning his skin off and blamed it on his inability to speak coherently. It was Dean's apparent troubled breathing, his rapid pulse and racing heart beneath the palm Kevin laid on his chest to keep him upright that made the decision to take him to the ER an easy one.

Once in the car with the window cracked and fresh air blowing in his face, Dean revived and though he vehemently disagreed with Kevin's decision to take him to the ER, he gave Kevin directions to get there. He was bright-eyed with false sunny smiles upon entrance through the ER doors but it didn't last. They signed in with the tri-age nurse and took a seat in the waiting room and while Kevin gleefully ruined Sam's 'vacation' by sending him texts, Dean passed out and hit the floor.

***000***

Dean woke up with a pounding head, dry throat and aching body. Man, he hurt in every joint and muscle he had. Ow. He took a moment to gain his senses and gather information to determine the situation he was in. He managed to raise his head and though his eyesight remained blurry, he looked around; a hospital. Great. How the hell had he ended up here?

He plopped his head back on the pillow with a weary sigh and let his eyes close as he tried to recall what had happened. Details were fuzzy and out of order but...oh right. Bees. He'd been stung multiple times by bees and then…..? Huh, what had happened then? Something must have….okay, right, yeah….good….soooooo….nope, memory not coming to him.

The ER! He growled, shifting uncomfortably on the table…..he hated ER's. Being exposed for all to see, stretched out on a table with plastic cloths under his naked butt, covered by a thin, practically see-thru sheet; poked and prodded and pinched, stuck with needles…ugh. He still couldn't remember how Kevin had gotten him into the car or how he'd allowed the kid to drive him to the ER or why he'd walked in once he'd gotten there but it was obvious it had happened.

He remembered lying down on his bed because he hadn't been feeling well; his head buzzing and reeling and his chest aching but had he felt that bad he'd allowed the manipulation that had landed him here, naked on a gurney with a needle in his arm and chewing on a tongue depressor? Apparently. Huh. Okay, yeah, he'd been a little weak, little dizzy….head spun if he leaned forward or moved quickly but he'd had a concussion so not much of a surprise, except he'd been feeling no ill effects from that prior head injury until after the bee incident...…

"Hey." Kevin hovered in the doorway, medical curtain separating the beds in the ER ward. "Uh…..hi."

Dean rolled his head on the pillow, too tired and too lazy to lift it – he really didn't care to contemplate why – and focused on the blurry form of the reason he was here at the ER.

"How…you, ahh, feeling?" Kevin asked awkwardly. He was way out of his element here. Where the hell was Sam? Why didn't he call? Or at least respond to any of the text messages? What the hell did Kevin know about Dean's past medical history? Nothing, that's what. Nadda, zip, zilch, zero. He couldn't answer the doctor's questions and Dean either couldn't or wouldn't.

"Like shit."

"Yeah you….I mean….dude, you look…..well….erhm, you don't look good."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock…."

"Do you…..know who I am?" Kevin asked tentatively. Since passing out in the ER, Dean hadn't been responsive or coherent; freaking out, zoning out or acting drugged out. The doctors were thinking he'd thrown a reaction to the medication they'd administered to counteract the venom from the bee stings. Medication that Dean wasn't responding to the way they'd hoped. They were at a loss; their facility was small, more of an out-patient clinic then a full-fledged hospital, with no specialists or specialties and wanted to transport him to a larger hospital in Wichita.

"What the hell?" Dean scowled. He was in no moods for any games. "Seriously, Kevin, what the fuck is wrong with you? You hit your head?"

"No…no…..you did though….well, last week but…..you….I doubt that has anything to do with how you….were….you know….when….well, we got here. Maybe the medicine is working. Must be….you…you're awake and you're you."

Dean let his eyes close. What the hell was wrong with everyone? He'd been stung by a bee, okay, several bees but come on! He wasn't allergic. Damn Kevin panicking at the sight of a few red, swollen welts. And yeah, okay, maybe his tongue had swelled but, well… _.and_ his lips, his eyes, oh and his cheeks and he hadn't been able to speak with his lips double their normal size, but that did not define allergy! Hell, it hadn't even been enough to get him immediate treatment upon entering the ER!

Medication? He didn't feel like medication had made him feel better. Well, not exactly true. He had a distant memory of having a hard time breathing, like Sam had been sitting on his chest, and now he could breathe without gasping but he really didn't feel any better; still tired, still weak, still itchy, still hot and swollen, his skin still tight and achy. He still….hurt. Modern medicine truly wasn't all that wondrous.

"….go home?"

"…..sorry…..what?" Kevin cleared his throat. "You….were, saying? Wait, you want to go home?"

"They can't make me stay here."

"Well….no…but…the doctors don't think…"

And before Kevin could say any more, the doctor pushed the curtain aside and began to inform Dean of his condition.

Wow. Kevin didn't know either brother that well, but even he knew the way to approach Dean was not with ultimatums and demands. Dean didn't blow up until he heard the words, 'fly by chopper', and then, wow….over-react much? Who would have thought a man who couldn't hold his head up from the ER bed pillow could yell and argue and be so threatening and, erhm, dangerous? The argument between the doctor and Dean finally ceased when a female doctor entered the discussion and within minutes had Dean calmed down, once again level-headed, soon speaking quietly and calmly.

Since Kevin's attendance in no way appeased their irate patient, the doctor asked him to step out into the hallway while his associate continued with her attempt to placate their patient. He wanted to discuss sedation, the possible use of restraints, tried to convince Kevin that Dean was a danger to himself and hospital personal. Kevin disagreed but Dean's actions supported the doctor's conclusions, not Kevin's arguments. Kevin stuttered and stammered, informing whoever would listen, he was not family, just a co-worker.

***000***

Kevin rubbed his eyes that burned from stress and fatigue. He'd lost track of time and events and all he wanted was to be back home. It'd all happened so fast, it'd been a blur. The ringing of his cell startled him out of his daze. He picked it up and glanced at the screen, eyes not cooperating with the too-bright light. Sam. Oh shit. Somehow, he'd forgotten all about Sam.

"Hullo?" he answered, then winced, pulling the phone away from his ear. He wasn't equipped to deal with the troublesome twosome and certainly not Sam, who was going ballistic. Wow, he'd take a fighting demon any day over the spitting fury on the opposite end of the phone that was a worried, missing-his-brother, Sam.

"Kev? What did you do? Where the hell are you? Are you home yet? Where's Dean? Is he ok? What the hell happened? You ever send me texts like that again I will drown your ass in a mud puddle."

Kevin waited for Sam to take a breath so he could get a word in, but apparently the younger Winchester had lungs like fish and didn't need to breathe air, 'cause on and on he went.

"What the hell were you thinking? You let him poke a beehive full of bees? (yeah, like beehives were full of something other than bees) Where the hell were you? Don't you know he finds trouble in his bath tub?! Do you not remember Casper handing him his ass, less than a week ago? Seriously Kevin, what's wrong with you?"

"Aah, I'm a prophet Sam, not a babysitter." but he was pretty sure he went unheard.

"…I told him to stay in bed, watch porn, eat pizza, how could you let him fuck that up?" Sam continued to rant, unmindful of Kevin's interruption. "I mean, really Kev, what it too much to ask?"

Kevin rolled his eyes, was what too much to ask? "Let him? _Let him_? Um, do you know him at all?"

"…bees. How the hell did he even know there was a hive? Why would you let him go outside? I should have made him come with me! Will I never learn? Apparently not, I haven't yet."

"Sam….Sam…..Sam…..HEY!"

Sam fell silent, only heaving breathing in his ear informed Kevin the call hadn't been disconnected.

"Sam…..where are you?"

"Bignell, about half way home…..why? Aren't you back home? There's no way on this earth they got him on a chopper….."

"Still in Nebraska then?"

"What the fuck difference does it make what state I'm in?"

State in America, none; mental state, a lot. Kevin thought. "Yeah, uh….no…..he didn't want to fly."

"Where is he?"

"They….they…he didn't respond to treatment. Not intravenous antihistamines or cortisone or epinephrine and they tried a pretty strong dose of it, almost pure adrenaline."

"What hospital did you go to?"

"Aah….I dunno…wait…it was close….like ten minutes…..um….."

Sam knew the name and address of every hospital within thirty miles of the bunker. One had to, when one's brother was Dean. "Smith County Memorial?" he questioned.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it. But Sam…."

Sam winced, pinching his nose between his eyes as his head began to pound. Yeah, small hospital and not one he had a lot of confidence in. He had no trouble believing their desire to transport Dean to a larger, better equipped facility.

"….so by ambulance." Kevin was talking, most of which Sam had not heard. "He goes in and out of consciousness and when he does wake up, he's confused and often combative and doesn't respond to the doctors requests to relax and calm down. He didn't listen to me and they didn't want to sedate him, not with the swelling in his throat."

"Wait…..what?"

"Haven't you been listening to me? They're saying anaphylaxis shock."

"WHA-AT?" Sam exclaimed. "No…no…just no. He's not allergic to bee stings!"

"Is he allergic to anything?"

"NO! Well, apple seeds."

"Apple seeds? How would you know…? I mean, seeds, not apples?"

"Long story….look…..I'm three hours out. Can you stall the transport to Wichita until I get there?"

"You're on your way home?"

"Really Kevin? You have to ask?" Sam spat. "Where the hell else would I be?"

"How the hell would I know? Not like you responded to any emails or texts." Kevin said defensively. "It's been hours Sam."

"Didn't have my phone at the auction." Sam said dismissively. "So….you think you can stall or not?"

"No. I'm trying to tell..…"

"Course not." Sam sighed. "Christ Kevin, can you do anything right?"

"You know….that's not fair." Kevin responded testily. "He doesn't come with an owner's manual Sam so stop yelling at me."

"What? Jesus Kevin….all you had to do was…"

"Yeah, sorry dude, I didn't take introductory to living with Dean 101." Kevin continued. "What do you want Sam? I'm kinda busy and it's late and I'm tired and the road is dark and if I ever have another day as fucked up as this one was, I'm running away from home and no one, not even you or a summoning spell will ever find me."

"Where are you?"

"I've been trying to tell you…..driving home. They didn't send him to Wichita, they sent him by ambulance to Manhattan."

"No…no…no…nonononono….NO!" Sam yelped. "Jesus Kevin…how did you let that happen?"

"How….did….I?" Kevin sputtered. "What did I let happen?"

"Just…..why Kevin? You left him there? Why would you do that? Why would you leave him?"

"I...!" poor Kevin snapped and the yelling began. "Shock Sam, shock! He's exhibiting signs of anaphylaxis. His blood pressure is low; he has difficulty breathing and trouble swallowing; he wheezes because his chest is tight because his lungs need air and makes him short of breath; his eyes are red and itch and water and his eyelids are so swollen you can't see his pupils; his nose and cheeks and lips and tongue are puffy or bumpy; the welts are red and inflamed and itch; he's complained of a dry throat and a headache and being hot and itchy; his hand is so swollen he can't make a fist; his leg and arm are numb, he says it feels like they're asleep; his nose runs and his mouth itches and he tries to use his tongue to scratch it but it's swollen and he can't! AND DID I MENTION HE ITCHES?"

"KEVIN!"

"And fuck you Sam!" Kevin was still yelling. "I'm dealing...been trying to all day...it ain't easy you know, he ain't easy!" he paused for breath. "And where the hell have you been ALL DAMN DAY?!"

"Something's not right Kevin. He's not allergic to bee stings."

"Yeah, well…..IV meds eased the symptoms but the doctors said he didn't respond like he should have. At the hospital in Manhattan, they injected antihistamines directly into his muscle and let me tell you, he did not like that at all and put him on IV Corticosteroids."

"What?" Sam was trying to keep up and understand and grasp what Kevin was saying but all he heard was, yadda, yadda, yadda...steroids. "Kevin…..is he ok?"

"Now you ask." Kevin adjusted the rearview mirror, phone balanced on his shoulder with his chin. "…get his prescriptions filled in the morning hopefully at home."

"Wait….wait….just wait…..home? You're homeward bound? With him? He's with you? Do you have him with you?"

Kevin sighed. Was Sam deaf? "Yes Sam, we're driving home. Maybe you should check your phone and you know, return texts. He responded to the more aggressive meds at the hospital and once the swelling was down and his blood pressure and pulse, you know, heart rate returned to normal, there was no keeping him there."

"But I thought…..didn't you say…you said Wichita."

"Yeah, well, they wanted to fly him and he freaked out…so sent him by ambulance to the closest hospital that had the IV meds he needed. Treated and released AMA and now we're driving home."

Or trying to. The fog was immense and his eyes played tricks on him and the car didn't like him and they were sitting in park, an accident ahead had the road shut down, signs alerted him to that fact along with the information that a detour was three miles ahead….if they ever reached it. A motel room sounded good, really good, better than driving another hour – or however long – to get home, good. Yeah…get a motel room and let Sam come get Dean and take him home while Kevin remained at the motel for another few days - blissfully alone. That was his plan, he was a man with a plan, just call him Stan, 'cause he just made a new plan. Course, his plan had a teeny flaw. They were in the middle of nowhere, stuck in traffic, with cars parked behind him. Oh, wait….wait….there were none coming at him, he could turn around, double back, find a motel…..yeah…..wait…..oh yeah… what was that annoying buzzing in his ear?! Oh, it was Sam.

"…let me talk to him." Sam said impatiently. "Kevin….Kev…..hey!"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure….he's kinda outta it…but you can try."

He dumped the phone in Dean's lap and put the car in reverse. Car was a freaking boat but he'd manage a K turn and if anyone dared beep a born or flick their lights, he had an arsenal in the trunk.


	3. Chapter 3

"…'lo?" Dean slurred sleepily, roused from his stupor by a familiar voice repeatedly calling his name. By either instinct or remote habit, he picked up the phone and held it to his ear. "Waaa..Evan?"

"It's Sam." came the testy reply. "What the hell Dean?"

"Sam….hey….." he rolled his head on the window, seeking the coolness the glass offered. "I…doan…..dn't feel good Sammy." he yawned. "Lemme sleep."

"Just checking in." are you ok, do you need me to come get you, remained unspoken. "Dean….hey….Dean…Dean, dammit!" in a snit-fit, Sam threw the phone into the backseat. Dean hadn't responded to his repeated pleas to say something and Kevin hadn't gotten back on the phone. "Shit."

Manhattan was in the opposite direction of Lebanon from where Sam was but also closer to home so they should be there when Sam got in. Focused on finding a way to throttle Kevin without actually harming the kid and the opportunity to see Dean and ensure his brother was ok, Sam didn't even notice when the speedometer crept over 90. He had one thought in his head that played constantly on repeat: Get home and see Dean.

It was the wind that finally interrupted his suicidal aggressive driving and the reason why he eased off the accelerator. Wow, he leaned forward and peered through the windshield, look at those clouds, that dark sky….not good….not good, oh not good at all – and he was driving towards it. Now that he was paying attention, not lost in his own mental misery, he noticed the wind wasn't merely blowing – it was gusting. Trees lining the road dipped and swayed, branches and twigs littered the roadway, leaves swirled and whipped and the car shuddered more than once when hit by a brutal blast of wind and oh great, yeah, just what he needed; rain, heavy, blinding pouring rain. No other way to describe the torrents of water his wipers failed to keep up with.

God-Damn-It-All-To-Hell! If this didn't let up in the next five to ten minutes, he'd have to pull off the road. No way would the road be able to handle the deluge of water in the short amount of time it was accumulating. Fuck!

He finally took a breath and cleared the anger from his head. Surprisingly, the steering wheel had held up from the repeated slaps and banging of his palms. He hadn't even realized he'd pulled to the side of the road. Huh…right, okay Sam…pull it together and drive home.

***000***

Well, not the kind of motel Kevin had in mind but Triple AAA it was; available, affordable and acceptable. The first town he'd come to didn't have much to offer in way of lodgings; a five-star chain hotel he couldn't afford, a dingy motel where rooms rented by the hour that he would have taken, had there been vacancies and a boarding house/bed & breakfast some two miles off the road. Kevin snorted, putting the car in park; over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go, indeed.

The bored chick behind the bullet-proof booth at the decrepit gas station had dully informed him the next town with lodgings was some thirty-five miles 'that way' (she pointed upwards), no she didn't know the weather forecast or the cause of the accident or the reason for the detour and did he need anything else? Her show was coming back from commercial. It'd been a man pumping gas who'd given him directions to 'Edith's Bunker', assuring him of a warm reception, good food, a comfortable bed and unlimited hot water at a reasonable price.

The great-grandmother, 'cause yeah, Kevin was sure she was that old, met him at the door before he could knock. She was all smiles and cheerful chatter as she checked him in, not questioning their lack of luggage. She chattered on how breakfast, which would be pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon with toast daily, was included in their room charge but lunch and dinner, though available, would cost extra. She beamed as she handed him two room keys, informed him there was a shared bathroom on the floor and waved him on his way.

He looked longingly at the stair case that led upstairs to the second floor where a hot shower, the comfort of a bed and the companionship of a TV awaited then swung his head to the front door. Would it be that horrible of him if he left Dean in the car until he woke up on his own and found his way inside? Tempting, oh he was so tempted….but…..well, there was Sam. He'd been super pissed on the phone and Kevin really didn't want to contemplate what kind of fit the younger Winchester would throw if he found out Kevin had left his brother in the car, alone, in the cold, just out of the hospital AMA, in pain and ill and medicated and…..

He sighed, and with lowered head and dragging feet, trudged to the front door. He opened it and stepped out onto the porch, eyes widening at the rain he'd previously neither seen nor heard. He turned his collar up, hunched his shoulders against the wind, descended the steps and crossed the yard to the car where he attempted to coax, cajole and beg Dean to get out of it. Kevin sighed, cursing Sam yet again. Undoubtedly, he would have known exactly what to say to get Dean out of the car.

"Good evening. May I be of assistance?"

Kevin looked up to see an elderly man encased in a large rain slicker. "Wanna grab a foot and drag?" he asked sourly. "Careful though, he kicks."

"Hum…..too much to drink perhaps?"

"No. Pissed off some bees." Kevin answered. The man, who had come to help them with their non-existent luggage, peered around the door. "Threw an allergic reaction. We…aah…..I had to take him to the ER….we were on our way back home but the road was closed and there was a detour and he wasn't feeling so good…so…."

"Home would be where?"

"Lebanon."

"Kansas?" the man chuckled. "And you ended up here? Bit out of your way, don't you think?"

"I have no fucking idea where the hell we are…" Kevin groused irritably. "I'll figure it out in the morning." so much for Sam coming to get Dean…couldn't anything go his way? The day had been so warm and sunny and nice and now? Now wind drove the rain sideways, thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning lit up the sky. Where the hell had this storm come from?

"Well son, you're not in Kansas anymore!" the man cackled at his own joke, rubbing his hands together. "Aah….well, you must be tired."

"Not funny." Kevin muttered. "Not funny at all." he huffed and puffed then deflated. "My life sucks."

"Come along. Everything will look better in the morning." he held the door while Kevin grabbed hold of Dean's collar and tugged. "I say, he appears to be quite out of it."

"Yeah, well, they doped him up at the hospital. I don't know what he's on and despite what the doctor said, he wouldn't stay…..I dunno…..scared the shit outta me is all I'll say." Kevin grunted against Dean's dead weight. "He ever does this to me again and….I…..I'll…..I dunno, run away from home or something."

"He doesn't carry an epi-pen?"

"Didn't know he was allergic."

"You didn't know?"

"He didn't. Dean, man come on, cut me a break, will ya?" he tugged and nudged and jostled and pulled until Dean finally roused and managed to fall from the car to the ground. "Great. Get up…..or I swear to God, I will leave you here." not that he would dare, for he didn't relish the ass kicking he'd receive from Sam if he ever found out Kevin had left his drugged brother in the dirt, ehrm, mud, in a torrential downpour in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

"Best we get him inside." Mr. Rain Slicker swung the car door shut and with surprising ability and strength for a man his age, knelt beside Dean and helped him gain his feet. "Doesn't bite, does he? Call me Pete."

"Been known to." Kevin lent an arm on Dean's other side and together they walked the befuddled hunter across the yard, up the porch steps, into the warmth of the foyer and up the steps to the second floor where their rooms were. Dean simply fell across the bed, rolling to his side and falling asleep so quickly, Kevin doubted the stricken hunter even knew he wasn't home. "Is it normally so foggy around here?" he paused, looking out the window. Huh, the fog had been immense, only what, an hour, two hours ago? "Or rain like this?"

"Now, now, no need to fret young one." Pete assured the teen-ager standing in the door way. "You're perfectly safe here. Don't expect to lose power but if we do, got plenty of fire wood chopped and a forest full of trees for more for heat. Got candles and flash-lights and oil lamps for light. Got chickens for eggs, spring fed well that never freezes and Ma can make bread and biscuits, and we do have a generator to keep the fridge and freezer running. Never been stranded longer than a week."

"A week?" Kevin squeaked. "We can't stay here a week! Wait, lose power? Why, why would that happen? Lose power?" his mind was racing and he wasn't waiting for Pete to catch up and answer his questions. "No, no, no…..we can't….be…did you say stranded? Why? How? Oh no…we have to go….we can't stay here! Dean…..dude, get up!" he started dashing about the room, opening drawers and closet doors only to realize he had nothing to pack. "God…I'm so fucked." he moaned, head held in his hands. "What did I ever do to deserve this life?"

"Now, now, young man, calm yourself down." Pete said soothingly. "Needs medicine, does he?"

"What? NO…I mean YES…..no, I have what the hospital gave him, but he has prescriptions to get filled but…why would we lose power?"

"Relax son." he patted Kevin's shoulder. "You've got warmth and shelter and food….everything you need."

Except Sam.

"We're safe here." Pete said in a tone meant to assure Kevin and failing completely. "Safe from the weather, the lighting, the water…..we've never flooded - well the bridge has but the house hasn't. Born and raised right here…..I was."

"You don't understand." Kevin dropped into a ridiculously overstuffed feminine armchair that squeaked under his weight and raised sorrowful eyes full of anguish to Pete's. "This storm is nothing." he snorted. "When momma bear gets home and finds her cub missing…..?" he hung his head with a snort. "I can never go home again."

"Your mother will feel much better that you are off the road, out of this storm and safe." Pete said kindly. "Cell phones don't work so well out here in good weather, hardly ever in a storm, but you can use our land line to call her."

"My mom. Yeah. Sure." Kevin didn't correct Pete's misunderstanding. How did one explain a grown man's brother freaking out, wreaking havoc and turning the earth upside down searching for him? "Yeah…uh….sure…thanks." how pissed would Sam be when he got home and didn't find his brother tucked up in his room at the bunker? What would Sam do? Would he come after him? Yeah, he would, if he knew where to find him. If Kevin were able to reach him, would he demand Kevin get back on the road and drive Dean home or come get him? "But we'll leave in the morning."

"We wouldn't think of turning you out in this weather." Pete assured him. "Don't you worry, you stay as long as you need to, best to wait out this storm right here."

"You don't understand." Kevin said miserably. "We have to get home. If he's found missing, if he isn't there when Sam gets home, Sam will come looking for him and if there's a force on this earth you don't wanna hafta fuck with, it’s Sam when he's missing his brother. And if he _thinks_ you're keeping his brother from him…"

"Sam is welcome should he come looking for you." Pete patted his shoulder, sure the young man's nerves had gotten the best of him. "You've had a long, trying day. Goodness son, no one is keeping anyone here…" he was shaking his head with a chuckle. "Today's youth and their flappable nerves. You'll feel better after you get some rest. I'll update you on the weather in the morning."

Pete walked off, descending the stairs with Kevin standing in the doorway staring after him. Dean, who hadn't bothered to tie his boots at the hospital, sat up, toed them off, wormed and wiggled until the blankets were out from under him and flopped back down.

"NO!" Kevin yelped, yanking the blankets away before Dean could snuggle under them. "Dude….get up." in his frantic haste, he had the strength to shove Dean off the bed and he fell to the floor where he landed with a thud and a grunt. "Don't go getting the bed all wet and muddy! Get undressed and I'll see if they have a washing machine." before the power goes out, he thought irritably.

Dean blinked blearily, rubbing his cheek against the carpet, some fogged distant part of his brain telling him his hip hurt. Odd, pillows were usually much softer. What the…what was that? Again….again, someone was tugging on his arm….again. He'd had enough of that and swatted out blindly. Kevin swatted back and a slap-fight ensued. Dean was too tired and too sluggish to carry on and soon gave up, allowing the pull on his arm to guide him to his feet.

"Aah dude…here…get undressed and dry off." Kevin tossed him a towel. "I'll come back for your clothes…..all of them….." he went to his own room, just across the hall where he undressed and went down the hall to take a hot shower. When he returned to his room, a towel around his waist, there was a robe laid across his bed and his clothes were gone. Huh, so….it hadn't gone un-noticed they'd arrived without luggage.

He felt a moment of panic until he saw the contents of his pockets sitting on the night stand. He grabbed his protective hex bag, and the charm he wore on a cord around his neck then walked across the hall to peek into Dean's room. Dean had crawled into bed, all that was visible above the blankets was a tuft of hair; his sopping pile of clothing had also disappeared. Kevin backed out of the room and returned to his own where he retrieved his cell phone and sprawled on the bed to call Sam but there was no service, so he went in search of both their clothes and the use of a land line phone.

The house had three floors, for Kevin had seen a flight of stairs at the end of the hallway next to the bathroom, but it couldn't hold more than four bedrooms and a bathroom on each floor. He wondered if there were any other guests. Not that it mattered…still…some company would be nice. The way the wind howled and the windows rattled and pinged with – good god – hail, he doubted they'd be leaving come morning. Great.

The foyer with the check-in counter was empty; the front door was locked; the hallways leading to the back of the house were dark. He wasn't surprised; hell it was after what, ten, eleven, midnight? He wandered down a hallway that led to the back of the house where he figured the elderly couple who apparently ran the place would have rooms. Kitchens were usually at the rear of the house and he could use a snack. Was he expected to served himself or wait until morning? Oh, maybe the front desk had a bell he could ring for service. He giggled.

"Hello young man." Kevin jumped, startled, great-grama was standing in front of him, where the bloody hell had she come from? "Call me Edith." she smiled warmly. "It's late. I thought you'd have gone to bed. How can I help you dear?"

"I…Pete said I could use your phone. My cell doesn't get a signal. I need to call…uh…." he frowned. "Where are we?"

"Why, you're in Blaine, Nebraska." she led the way to the foyer where she went behind the small counter and set a telephone on top. "Sorry it's not cordless but without power, they don't do us much good, now do they? Can I get you something to eat? It's past dinner but I can make you a ham sandwich or heat you some beef barley soup? Would you like that?"

His mouth watered, and his heart fluttered over the motherly concern of his comfort and his stomach growled. "Wait…..I'm where?" how the hell did he get them to Nebraska?

"I see you found the robe." she continued. "I hope you don't mind, but I collected your clothes and put them in the laundry. Don't want the mud to set in." she patted his cheek. "What about your….who is he again dear?"

"Who's who?" he stuttered stupidly, attention on the thought of food, not the current conversation.

"The gentleman with you? Do you think he's hungry?"

Gentle…..who? "Oh." Kevin gave his head a shake to clear it. "Him. No…he went to bed. He's…aah, doped up on some pretty strong meds."

"Yes, Pete mentioned he'd been stung by bees and threw an allergic reaction. Poor thing. He must be feeling terribly."

"Uh…..yeah….sure, right….no, he's not hungry. Where's…..Pete?"

"Oh, he's outside securing the chickens and the furniture, gathering more wood in case we need fires to heat your rooms. Earl called and told us he'd sent you our way, that's why I had the rooms on the second floor all ready for you. They each have their own fireplace."

"Are we the only guests?" Kevin began to dial Sam's number, praying for voicemail. Securing chickens? Good grief, where the hell was he? "Who's Earl?"

"Oh no, we have a family of four staying with us. They're on the third floor, two bedrooms per floor have their own fireplaces. They came before you but we knew you were coming before they arrived." she turned a light on. "Earl helps with some of the heavier chores. You met him at the gas station."

"Hey Sam." the call had gone straight to voice mail, so either Sam's phone was off, (doubtful) or he wasn't getting service either. "We….aah…pulled off the road for the night. We're at Edith's Bunker in Blaine, NE. Hope to be home early afternoon, but the weather's shitty." he hung up and stepped aside to allow her to put the phone away. "You mentioned a snack?"

"Of course, no trouble at all." she flapped her hands at him to move him along. "Kitchen's right this way. Come on…come along, don't be shy….let's go get you something to eat."

Too tired and too numb to protest, he followed Edith into the kitchen where she seated him at a table with cookies and milk while she made him a ham and cheese sandwich.

***000***

Dean woke slowly, in confusion, in pain, and assaulted by bites that stung and stabbed so severely, he groaned with a curse. Opening his eyes didn't make him feel any better either. When they first blinked opened, the light hurt and they refused to focus, not that he tried too hard to make them do so, and he promptly allowed them to close. Focused or not, he'd seen enough to doubt his sanity.

He was either still asleep and dreaming, unconscious and delirious or he had finally lost his mind for he was damn sure he hadn't redecorated the walls of his room and it wasn't something Sam would have done. Not even as a joke to piss him off. Maybe it was a hallucination….yeah….induced by copious amounts of alcohol, 'cause he felt like he'd spent a week bingeing on grain alcohol like when'd he'd been twenty-something and tried to drink that biker chick under the table. Yeah, he'd failed.

Sighing, he bit his lip against the discomfort that surged a flush of warmth through his body and forced his eyes open. His eyes finally adjusted and focused and yup, he still saw what he'd seen. Flower printed wallpaper – _wallpaper_ – mocked him from the wall opposite his frilly, lacey bed with – his eyes went up – a white canopy over his head atop a four-poster bed. Everywhere his eyes roamed, he saw lace and frill. Curtains and dressers scarfs and afghans and quilts and embroidered pillows and stitched flower pictures and….doilies!

The bed was warm and comfortable and his duffel sat on the bed bench, he frowned, he didn't remember carrying it in. His frown deepened, he didn't remember his feet carrying him into the….where was he? Was he in a house? He was confused but didn't feel alarmed. The room, although dated from the 18th century with bric-a-brac, knick-knacks, figurines, and a porcelain pitcher with wash bowl, was neat and clean and cheerfully decorated.

He groaned, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. He shouldn't know what a doily was…..it was enough to make a man puke. He swallowed hard, body flushing renewed with warmth…..oh dear god, he was going to puke! He lurched off the bed, stumbling when the floor proved to be further away than he'd anticipated and ended up on his hands and knees, nose in the carpet. What the….? Was that a fucking wooden step-stool to…to…used to get into _bed_? Where the fuck was he, how did he get there and how soon could he leave? He crawled until he was able to gain his feet, making for the visible door, and flinging it open in expectation of a bathroom. He was greeted by a shrill shriek, admonishment for his thoughtless action and a kid, maybe two, laughing and pointing fingers, not the welcoming sight of a porcelain throne.

A hallway, not the bathroom….and…..his hands flailed, feeling a draft…..he was naked. He didn't have time to care, stomach already heaving into his throat. He whirled around, somehow having the mind to slam the door closed as his eyes darted in all directions, frantically searching for a second door...where the hell was the bathroom? Repetitious habit passed his thought process and sent him in search of his tried and true receptacle..….the nearest trash can.

He didn't know how much time passed, no one came to the door and though he was no longing heaving and his knees had stopped knocking together, he still had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten there, who was with him…or why. He set the trash can aside and flopped a limp hand all about over his head in search something he could use to wipe his mouth. God, he felt _awful_ ; truly and utterly and completely _awful_!

He fought the urge to lie down and curl up on the fuzzy carpet because it was, you know, the floor and pushed himself to his feet. His legs were shaky and threatened to dump him back where'd he just been, but a death grip on the bed post and another hand on the mattress kept him upright until the dizziness subsided. No clothes were found but there was a robe folded next to his duffel on the bed bench and he pulled it on…snuggling into its soft warmth.

What to do? What should he do? Should he care? He held his head and squatted down to peer under the bed. It was high enough off the floor Sam could hide beneath it but nothing and no one was there. Not even a dust bunny. Using the bed covers to pull himself back to his feet, he made to sit on the mattress but it was higher than his ass and his coordination deserted him. He eyed the stool but couldn't recall why it was there so he stood where he was and stared blankly at the wall.

Where was he? Why was he there? How did he get there? How long had he been there? What time was it? What day was it? Where were his clothes? Did he have his car? Why did he feel so god-damn awful? He needed to pee, wanted something to drink, maybe some mouth wash…there had to be a bathroom somewhere and he wasn't locked in….so….move your ass Dean.

He tied the robe, collected the trash can and cautiously opened the door. The hallway was decorated in the same theme as his room….wow. Okay, flight of steps going down, flight going up, seven doors, including his own, two smaller than the others, probably closets, four firmly closed and there…..one ajar. Ah-Ha bathroom.

***000***

Kevin stared out the window, fighting tears and the sour taste in his mouth. It was morning, not that anyone could tell. The rain poured, the wind howled and whipped and between the downpour and the blowing leafs, you couldn't see out the window past the front porch. Kevin sighed, turning away from the window and going to sit on the sofa where the TV was turned on to local news. High winds, flooding, periods of hail, severe lighting and extreme unfavorable weather conditions expected over the next forty-eight hours with brief periods of calm rain and gentler winds. _Calm rain and gentler winds?_ What kind of forecast was that?

They still had electricity, though cells still didn't receive service and there was no internet. He had several books with him both for pleasure and research, so he wouldn't be bored, but man he did not want to remain here. He'd greeted the day with the intention of leaving after breakfast, but…no…not in this weather and not in that boat the brother's called a car. Nuh-huh…..no way, not happening. Maybe if Dean had been awake and up to driving, but when Kevin had popped his head in Dean's room, it'd been to discover the elder hunter was still tucked-up in bed, dead to the world; he hadn't even responded to Kevin's pleas to wake up and take some meds….yeah, no….Dean driving them home wasn't gonna happen.

He made arrangements with Edith to have all their meals provided, sure Dean would find a way to pay for them and was eating breakfast in the dining room when the family of four occupying the third floor entered the room. Kevin paid them no attention; awash in his own abject misery. No change of clothes, though Edith had returned both his and Dean's freshly laundered, stranded alone in a state he didn't know he'd entered, further away from home then he'd thought he was, with one sick Winchester and out of communication with the other. Yup, that was his life. Woot-woot.

"This is not the environment we wish our children…" yadda, yadda, yadda. "Unclothed men strolling….." yadda, yadda, yadda. "Why, if we could, we'd leave!"

"Oh my." Edith smiled with an apologetic smile. "Kevin dear, it would appear your friend is now awake."

"Huh?" he chewed around a biscuit covered in jam, having no idea what was being said at the table. "My who….? Oh….." he shrugged. "Okay."

"He caused a disturbance upstairs in the hallway." Edith said kindly. "Perhaps you should go check on him."

"A disturbance? _A disturbance?_ It was unacceptable! If this…..this….behavior is acceptable in your establishment you ought to be asham…" the mother, wife, whoever the hell she was, went silent under the gaze Kevin turned on her, just stopped talking mid-syllable.

"Yeah….sure….whatever." Kevin reached for more bacon. "Just leave him alone and he won't bother you."

"I understand the bathroom is a shared facility but he can't just…just…well, he just can't!"

"Lady, you don't have anything to worry about. You're not his type….." Kevin gave her another look of disgust. "At all." he held his glass out to Edith for a refill of juice, giving her a smile of thanks. "So stifle it."

"How dare you!" she gasped.

"You have no idea what you're messing with." Kevin finally finished the food on his plate and pushed back from the table. "I have enough to deal with and worry about. I don't really care if your maiden sensibilities were ruffled."

"Young man…"

He ignored her gasp of offended outrage and her husband's puffed up attempt to defend her. He couldn't deal with anything more….he simply couldn't. He went upstairs and found Dean in the hallway, wearing the robe, staring at one door then another.

"Hey Dean." Kevin greeted. "You feeling better? Want something to eat?" he sure as hell didn't look any better, eyes still red and swollen, mouth drawn, cheeks sunken…..poor dude. "Come on, I got your clothes…..take some meds and go back to sleep."

"Where the fuck are we?"

"Had to pull off the road last night. Huge storm blew up…this B&B was all that was available." Kevin handed him his clothes and followed him into his room where Dean donned his t-shirt and briefs. "Maybe you should eat something…"

"Later." the thought of food caused him to blanch and hold his stomach. "We good here?"

"Aah….yeah….yeah….use the step stool….Dean…..the stool….right….okay." Kevin retrieved two cups of water from the bathroom - gonna hafta get bigger cups Kev, these 3 ouncer's ain't gonna cut it - and Dean swallowed the meds that were handed to him then laid down and burrowed under the blankets. "Guess you're gonna sleep…okay, good. Just don't…..go running around naked anymore, okay?"

His only response was the appearance of a hand flipping him off. Kevin grinned and returned to his own room across the hall where he spent the day until Pete knocked on the door and told him it was time for dinner. Kevin set his book aside and looked at the clock, dinner? What the hell happened to lunch?

It still rained, Dean still slept and Kevin still couldn't reach Sam. Oh, that couldn't be a good sign. Hunger drove him downstairs to the dining room where the snooty family sat the table. Edith was bustling around, and through the doorway that led to the kitchen, Pete and a man who looked familiar were loading shot guns.

"Hello dear." Edith greeted. "Pork Chops, barley soup, green bean casserole and sweet potatoes. Would you like a glass of milk?"

"Please, thank you." he sat down, becoming aware he had interrupted a conversation that the two boys immediately resumed.

"You're stupid….it was Rambo!"

"I'm not stupid….you're dumb! He was huge! It was Conan!"

"Duh….he didn't have black hair."

"Duh…..it was dark and he was all wet and covered in mud, how would you know? Rambo!"

"Too short!"

"Rambo! He had a huge gun!"

"Conan! He had a huge sword!"

"Rambo! He had bangs!"

"How could you tell? It was Conan! He had a head band!"

"Rambo has one too!"

"That ain't no head band! It's a…a….it's a rag! A doo-rag!"

"You take that back!"

"Make me midget!"

"Rambo!"

"Conan!"

Kevin waited for their mother to shush them so he could eat in peace but their arguing continued. Rambo vs Conan? Sylvester vs Arnold? Weren't those movies like from the eighties? No wait, Conan…..there were more movies than the ones with Arnold, right?

"Now boys, this is not a topic for the dinner table." Edith spoke when their mother didn't attempt to reprimand them for their lack of table manners. "Now, settle down and eat your dinner."

"But we saw him!" one insisted.

"Yeah, right out our window! The lightning flashed and there he was."

"Big! With a gun!"

"Sword!"

"Yes." Edith nodded. "No one doubts you saw someone. It's not unusual for people to seek shelter in this weather but your squabbling will cease while we are at this table."

Kevin stopped chewing, unable to swallow. Someone lurked outside the house with a gun and a sword? And Pete and Earl were loading guns...both Rambo and Conan had long hair…not a sword, a machete….soup spewed, milk spilt, Kevin choked, a chair fell over and chaos erupted as Kevin bolted for the door.

Sam had come for his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam took a moment to gather both his wits and his strength, and fought the urge to sink to the ground. His legs trembled from exertion and his head throbbed from tension and the stress of the unknown but his mind remained alert and focused. He stood – unwisely, what with all the lightning – under the dubious protection of a large tree, staring at the house across the yard that may or may not house his wayward brother and his piss-ant little prophet.

His rotated his neck, hunched and flexed first one shoulder, then the other, trying to ease the strain on tense muscles. He'd been forced to leave his car before the bridge and walk the two miles to the house, lugging a duffel heavy with weapons. He was so going to sit Kevin down at the table and keep him there until he'd taught the kid how to leave a proper voicemail. The little snot had delighted in bombarding him with stupid texts and emails, but Sam had had to call him and only then had the little punk managed to leave one voicemail without a call back number. Caller ID had been blocked and while the storm surely had interfered with phone reception, the message still had been short, broken up with static and he'd been able to make out only a few words: Blaine, shitty, bunker.

He'd continued to drive home, his pace excruciatingly slow – at times doing no more than five miles an hour – only to find no one there, so he'd settled in and waited. And waited and waited but Kevin hadn't brought Dean home and he hadn't called a second time. Pissed, worried, exhausted and annoyed, unable to sleep, he'd listened to the message repeatedly, finally piecing together that Blaine, though how the hell Kevin had ended up there from Manhattan - well the kid had said detour and fog and hadn't he turned around? – was a town in the neighboring state of Nebraska. All he'd needed had been a map and GPS and here he was, seething in frustration, as he surveyed, cased, and plotted. Had he driven straight to Blaine, instead of home and doubling back after waiting forever and getting no sleep, he would have been here hours ago. Why that mattered, he didn't try to figure out. _Yeah, definitely not going there!_

Leaving the duffel under the protection of a pine tree, and armed with a shotgun and a machete, he stepped out into the wind and rain and began to walk around the house, searching for the one sure sign that would tell him he'd found the right place and his brother was inside – the Impala. He didn't really believe his brother was being held against his will in the three-story clapboard Victorian but they could never be too careful. Only Dean could leave the safety and security of home – without Sam – due to something as mundane as multiple bee stings and find trouble of the unknown and be taken hostage while away.

"I dunno whether to punch you when I find you or hug you." Sam muttered, rounding a barn and coming to the front of the house. Ah-ha! There, parked on the driveway with an SUV, sat the welcome sight of the Impala. He didn't know how the heck he'd missed seeing her before, both when approaching the house from the road and while walking around the perimeter of the manicured lawn. Oh well, it didn't matter, for where there was one, there was the other.

He didn't want to contemplate why he'd felt a driving, almost desperate, need to find his brother, wasn't like they hadn't been separated before while hurt or sick…but…here he was; wet, cold, hungry, tired, sleep-deprived, slightly frantic and battling panic, perhaps even waging a war with hysteria. Even knowing Dean was with Kevin and had sought medical treatment, didn't appease Sam or give him confidence that his brother was going to be ok. A never before allergic reaction to bee stings, being transported from hospital to hospital, leaving AMA, receiving treatment Sam knew nothing about, not being as responsive to that treatment as the doctors expected, injection of antihistamines and what the _fuck_ were Corticosteroids? – were some of the reasons Sam _had_ to see his brother; had to see for himself what had prompted Kevin to take him to a hospital and made Dean agree to go.

All right, front door….all he needed to do was knock…

"Easy there son, drop the knife, then the gun." a clear voice commanded over the wind. "Put your hands up over your head real nice and slow."

"Where is he?" Sam asked instead of complying. He didn't feel threatened and he doubted he'd be able to hold his hands up for long, holding weapons are not. "Who are you? If you've hurt him…..done anything to him…"

"I don't think you're in any position to be asking questions. Drop the knife. I'm not going to ask you again."

"I'm not willing to do that." Sam slowly stepped sideways one step at a time until his back was to the Impala. All symptoms of weariness were gone and he was alert and prepared for a fight. His stance or perhaps it was his facial expression that gave him away.

"Stand down. We don't want any trouble."                             

"You've found it."

"Who are you and what are you doing out here?"

"HEY!" Kevin shouted, leaping off the porch and hitting the pavement running. His feet hadn't even touched one step. "Whoa! Whoa! NO! Wait. Wait. Wait a minute, hold on! Pete, hold up! Don't! Don't do….." he splashed through a puddle, slipped, went down on one knee and scrambled to his feet, never pausing in his charge across the lawn. "Don't you dare!"

"Go back inside youngster." Pete ordered calmly despite having to shout to be heard. "You let us take care of this."

"No…No…No…..Sam….damn you! Say something!" Kevin yelled, hands flinging up and out and down and back up. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" he skidded to a stop next to Pete, slightly behind Earl. "What the hell are you doing?"

"No need to worry son." Pete said. "No one is going to get shot. We just want him to lower his weapons, we mean him no harm."

"Both Pete and I are good shots." Earl had yet to take his eyes off Sam. "We won't kill him."

"Not as good as him!" Kevin rushed Sam and planted himself directly in front of the bewildered hunter, palms against his chest in a futile attempt to move him backwards. Sam merely peered down at him as Kevin grunted, pushing with all his strength, feet scrabbling for purchase in the mud. "SAM!" Kevin gave up trying to move him and turned around to face Pete and Earl but before he could say anything, a hand grabbed his shoulder and propelled him behind the unmovable wall that was Sam. "Good God! Can't you ever just do shit like a normal person?"

Pete gaped. They held two guns on Rambo-Conan and the youngster was worried about them being shot? The way the man was scowling, and the defensive way in which he stood clearly told Pete, Rambo-Conan appeared ready to defend the boy against them! He was beginning to suspect the big guy was in no way intimated by him, Earl, or their guns.

"Put the gun down." Earl ordered. "I don't want to have to shoot you, but you're not leaving me much choice."

"NO!" Kevin yelped, jumping up and down in an attempt to see over Sam's shoulder. "YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" good lord, Dean would tear them apart and burn the house to the ground if they shot his brother. "It's loaded with rock salt!" his head popped out from under Sam's arm. "It'll hurt like hell but won't kill anyone. He's not here to rob you or anything…Sam…..man, they're human. Come on!"

"His shotgun is loaded with…..rock salt?" Pete repeated. "That doesn't make any sense…" what the hell was going on? "Here now….." despite the wind and rain, Pete heard Earl cock his gun, and aim for Sam's left shoulder.

"He thinks you're a ghost or maybe a demon….he…." Kevin hastily explained. "HEY!" he grabbed for Sam's arm and played tug of war for the gun, feet slipping in the mud. "SAM! Damn you! Cut it out….."

"I'd still feel better if he lowered both his weapons." Pete stated. "That's one large, lethal knife. Steady Earl."

"It's a machete." Kevin grunted, tugging with both hands to Sam's one. He kicked Sam's ankle, sure the hunter was merely playing with him. "But you're not a vampire so he won't cut your head off. Dammit SAM! Knock it off…!"

"Where's Dean?"

"In the house where he's been sleeping all day." Kevin finally succeeded in wrestling the shotgun away from Sam because Sam allowed him to have it. "What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"Why are you?" Sam countered. "Jesus Kevin! You can't just take him and not come home!"

"Ever hear of _the_ front door?"

"You told me you were taking him home!"

"I tried….but we got held up in an accident and the weather kept getting worse and he felt awful and there was a detour or two…maybe three, hell I dunno. This is the first town I came to." Kevin was still yelling. "Still doesn't explain why you're sneaking around outside the house! What the hell were you thinking!?"

"You're in Nebraska Kevin!" Sam shouted back. "I was thinking what the hell might have brought him here!"

"I got lost!" Kevin yelled defensively. "Would you rather us be stuck in this storm somewhere in the car?"

"I'd rather you be home!" Sam waved the machete overhead. "Dean knows how to get there!"

"Hell, he didn't even know his own name!"

"Yesterday Kevin! That was yesterday! What the hell happened to coming home today?"

"Yeah, well…..couldn't leave in this weather. The rain and wind hasn't let up since _yesterday_." he mimicked Sam, ducking. "Put that down!" Kevin made a swipe for the machete. "SAM! Stop!"

"I made it home, where I waited. All night. Then drove here." Sam snapped, slapping Kevin's hand down. "Stop that! Christ, you wanna lose your hand?"

"Hooray for you." Kevin snapped right back. "I've had my license…like three years Sam…..one of which I didn't even have the opportunity to do any driving so excuse me for not having the experience of living on the road like you!"

"Really Kevin? Seriously? Now? You're going to give _me_ shit now? Here?"

"Yeah, yes I am." Kevin huffed. "Why are you here? I left you a message…"

"Yeah, a message. One fucking message." Sam snorted, spitting rain. "Broken with static, no return phone number and from a blocked number." he sneered. "I got three words Kev…three…..I assumed you said Dean was feeling shitty so you took him home, were off the road and at the bunker so I went there. Imagine my surprise to find it empty – no one there."

"Oh."

"And I waited – waited for you to bring him home."

"Oh."

"And I waited for a text or an email or another phone call, but nope, nothing, nadda, not a damn word."

"Oh."

"Your thumbs break? Lost your phone?"

"I….I thought…..you'd think….."

"What the _hell_ did you _think_ I'd think Kevin!?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Kevin yelled, frustrated. "Not….not…..well, not…..that! You…..you thought someone had taken him?"

"JESUS CHRIST Kevin! Do you know us at all? YEAH! He's up and disappeared on me before!"

"But I TOLD you…!"

"Wow, just….wow. Short memory, huh Kevin?" he tossed his head but his matted hair still hung in his eyes. "Didn't it occur to you to try and call me again when you didn't hear from me?"

Kevin remained silent. He hadn't been with the brothers when Dean had been thrown ass-first through a wall during a hunt but he clearly remembered Sam's panic when he'd brought Dean home. "You know, why are you being so mean?" Kevin flared. "Talk about being worked up. Geesch, I mean…what's the big deal? He….."

"The big deal? The big…. _deal_? He isn't safe here Kevin! He can't protect himself – or you – and how the hell am I supposed to when he isn't where the fuck he's supposed to be?"

"There's nothing to protect himself from here! He's safe Sam…"

"HE'S NEVER SAFE!" Sam roared. "ANYTHING can get HIM at ANYTIME no matter where he is UNLESS he's HOME! Can't you understand that?"

"Do you both think perhaps we can take this argument inside?" Pete interrupted. "You…aah…." he watched Kevin jump and swipe a hand for the machete that Sam easily held out of his reach. "Sir…I'd feel better if you would allow the youngster to take possession of that deadly weapon."

Sam wiped his face on his shoulder, sheathing the machete in the holder along his thigh. "Trust him with a knife sharp enough to take his hand off?" he let Kevin keep the shotgun as he turned around and walked back to retrieve his duffel. "So, we're good? You sure Kev?"

Kevin fell into step beside him. "Spiked the juice with holy water, table salt served with every meal. I have my hex bag and charm…..we're good."

"Maybe….we should knock him out, tie him up and put him in the barn." Earl muttered to Pete as a now unarmed Sam strolled ahead of them. "He doesn't seem in full possession of all his faculties. Beginning to doubt the kid's sanity too."

"Aah…" Pete failed to find words to respond when Sam's head swung around to pierce them with a look that plainly told them, despite the howling wind and rain that was now hail, he'd heard enough of what Earl had said to understand his intent. "I don't think that'd be a good idea. Certainly not a suggestion you should pass along."

Sam heaved a sigh when he followed Kevin up the steps of the front porch and the rain didn't follow. It was the first time in several hours he'd been out of the cold, hard rain and though he dripped water, the lack of being pelted in the face was an immense relief. Before Kevin could knock, the door opened and they were met by Edith.

"Welcome to Edith's Bunker." she smiled against the howl of the wind, arms full of towels. Sam shot Kevin a look of comical disbelief. "Would you both mind terribly, disrobing out here on the porch? Pete and Earl wore rain slickers and will come in through the back door so they won't leave nearly the mess you will."

"Seriously?" Sam pushed at his hair, well aware he was dripping water and leaving muddy footsteps across the porch, but he didn't care. He wanted in that house and his brother within his sight. "Edith Bunker? Really?"

"What?" Kevin was dismayed that his clothes were once again, wet and muddy and would require laundering. "She's nice Sam, so behave."

"You can use these towels to dry off then go straight upstairs to Kevin's room." she chattered on. "No one will see you, they're all still in the dining room. I'll get another robe and set another plate at the table and get your clothes straight into the wash. You should take a hot shower then come down to finish your dinner." she turned to Sam when Sam put a hand on Kevin's shoulder to keep him where he was.

"He doesn't need a shower or his clothes washed and I don't need a robe." Sam stated. "And we won't be staying to eat dinner."

"You don't mean to leave in this weather?" Edith frowned. "Where is your car?"

Sam hesitated. The car had been, erhm, borrowed and he hadn't trusted it to forge the flooded bridge. "I had to leave it on the other side of the bridge."

"Good heavens! You walked clear out here? In this weather? My, my, that was – foolish." she shook her head. "And you think you're going to walk back to it? Tonight? It's hailing!"

"Cell's don't work." Sam explained impatiently. "And we're not walking anywhere, we'll take our car."

"You need a phone?" Edith inquired. "We have a land-line."

"Aah, Sam…I don't think….." Kevin began.

"You," a finger pointed at him. "Shut up. You've caused enough trouble." Sam said mildly, weariness was hitting him hard and the thought of a hot shower, a warm meal – which smelled delicious, the aroma wafting to the open door – and the comfort of dry clothes and a comfy bed nearly overwhelmed his insistence they leave immediately.

"But Sam….maybe waiting until morning…"

"We don't go now, we may not be able to go for days." Sam said absently, recalling the surging river with waves cresting the pavement on the bridge. He looked up the steps. "I want to go home Kevin. We _need_ to go home."

"Yeah, but…but…Sam see…..you don't…"

"He's not safe here. _We're_ not safe here."

"But no one knows we're here!"

"What's it going to take for you to get it? He's vulnerable here…..at risk for capture and he can't defend himself. Can he?" Sam waited and when Kevin shook his head, continued. "Anyone finds out he's down….." Sam could either shed his coat and shoes or push past the kind elderly lady and dash up the stairs. He thought to do the latter but one look at her face and he caved. "Kevin…enough." Sam raised a foot, crossed his ankle over his knee and untied his laces then did the same with his other foot. "I'm getting him up and we're leaving."

"Fine!" Kevin threw his hands up in defeat. He was out of his sneakers, hoodie, t-shirt and jeans before Sam had his second boot off. "Do whatever the hell you want." he took a towel from Edith and rubbed at his hair then quickly dried off. Wearing only underwear, he entered the house and started up the steps, then stopped and half turned around to address Sam. "Wake him up and make him leave. Go ahead. But I'm not helping you do it and I'm not going with you."

"Teen-agers." Edith shook her head. "Such a trial these days."

Leaving his boots and jackets on the front porch with his duffel, Sam stepped forward, silently demanding entrance into the house. Edith handed him a towel then stood aside to allow him in. Sam followed Kevin up the stairs, toweling at his hair as he went. His only thought, his every intention, despite the warmth and tantalizing aroma of dinner, was to wake his brother up, load up the Impala and drive home to _their_ bunker. If Kevin didn't want to accompany them, if he wanted to remain behind until the storm was over, fine. Dean came first and was Sam's priority, not Kevin who was warded and protected and could walk back to the car Sam had abandoned and drive himself home when all was sunny and blue-skyed.

Fatigue from mental stress and weariness from lack of sleep hit him hard and the effort it took to climb the stairs caused him to stumble and stub a toe when his squishy sock slid on the wood step. He grabbed the railing to keep from falling and paused to catch his breath. Driven by the fact, that finally, his brother was a door away, he ignored his own discomfort, shoved his own misery aside and pushed on until he reached the top of what was surely the steepest, longest staircase _ever._

"Dean?" he grabbed the first doorknob he came to and flung the door open.

***000***

Dean thought he was awake, in fact, he was sure he was, quite sure…..for he remembered that god awful wallpaper but he decided rather quickly, he'd rather not be. Christ almighty, he felt wasted. He tossed and turned and rolled, kicking free of the blankets, finally on his back, pillow gone missing, and though he'd finally achieved his goal, he didn't feel any better. In fact, he felt worse….. mouth dry, aching head, sore throat, swollen tongue, fuzzy teeth – Christ, he really needed to stop drinking – well – he needed to stop drinking the cheap, bottom shelf liquor, he was too old to wake up feeling like this.

"Way to go Dean." he muttered, wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his t-shirt.

One hand holding his stomach, and his palm against his forehead, he slowly sat up. He had to wait for the dizziness to subside and his head to clear before he could swing his feet off the bed to…where the _fuck_ was the _floor_?! Toes splayed, he gingerly extended his foot, stretching his leg from his hip while keeping his ass on the mattress – nothing. Aww, shit; letting his foot drop and dangle, he flopped down on his back and rolled to his belly. Scooting until his chin rested on the edge of the mattress on the opposite side, he dangled a limp hand, nope, no floor over there either.

His head did not take the change in elevation well and recruited his stomach to join its displeasure. Bathroom, he needed the bathroom. He raised his head to look around the room, eyes searching for a second door…oh right…..there wasn't one. No, wait….there was…..just…..not here….somewhere else, he had to….had to leave the room….yes, it was down a hallway. Right, he'd have to walk…ooooh, god….he didn't feel good, sticky and hot and thirsty. His belly demanded the trash can and his mind retorted he'd left it in the missing bathroom – on the other end of that long hallway.

Gritting his teeth, holding his breath, allowing the groan of discomfort, he pushed up with his palms, paused, and then eased onto his hip. Where the hell was he? He slowly looked about the room; right, the curio shop, how had he gotten here again? His eyes, dry and itchy, caught sight of the mirror and widened at his reflection. Good GOD! What the hell had happened to him? His lips! What was the matter with his lips!? And his cheeks…what, was he now a chipmunk storing food for the winter? Wait….he could see, yes, yes indeed, certainly he could see…..but where were his eyes? He had to have eyes to see, didn't he? Was this a spell? A curse? A hex? A joke? What was going on? Where was he? What had happened to him? Who had done this to him?

Sam? No, but…someone…ooh-ooh-ooh…..Kevin, it had definitely been Kevin.

"KEVIN!" he roared, then coughed. "KEVIN!" he shouted again, then frowned. Was he mute? Was he saying anything? Were words coming out of his mouth? Why couldn't he hear himself? "Hey." he tested his voice then cleared his throat. "Hey….hello….hello?" huh, nothing. Oh crap, couldn't be good. He looked around, the nightstand next to the bed was within reach, but there was nothing solid on it which to throw at the door, just a box of tissues. And of course, as soon as he saw them, his nose began to run. Leaning to his right, bearing his weight on his arm against the mattress, he snagged the box and plucked several free.

Sam flung the third door he'd come to open with such force, it hit the wall, bounced back and was kicked with a foot, followed by a muffled curse. Dean meekly peeked over the fluff of tissues, puffy, hooded eyes not having enough oomph to widen.

"Thammy?"

"Hey Dean." by all outward appearances he was calm, but internally? Well, his pulse raced and his heart thumped and his throat was thick and his brain was mad at his eyes because they were taking too long to survey the man on the bed and relay all they saw. He had to fist his hands to keep from rushing the bed and enveloping this brother in a huge hug. "Looking kinda shitty there dude."

"Thammy, I beil naw-ful." he stuck a foot out. "An' me 'eet non't etch e 'or!"

Despite his heaving chest, Sam fought a grin and lost. His lips twitched and the corner of his mouth curled in amusement. "What's that again Dean?"

"Puke!"

"Right….sure, here use the ….." Sam frowned, no trash can was to be found. "All this crap and no trash can?"

"I…..nost it."

"You lost the trash can?" Sam questioned, already backing up and grabbing the one next to the table in the hallway. "Here…..use this one."

Dean reached with both hands and hugged it close. He sat in the middle on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him and spread his knees to hold the trash can between his thighs, looking like a three-year old playing with a toy drum. Sam backed out into the hallway to give him privacy.

"Well?" Kevin demanded. "You still leaving?"

Sam turned around, only slightly mollified by having Dean within his grasp and still angry with Kevin. He sighed, silently admitting Kevin was right, they weren't going anywhere. Now that he had calmed down and was able to think rationally, he knew there was no way they'd be crossing the river until the water covering the bridge receded and it was safe to do so.

Kevin flung open a door. "My room has twin beds."

"No other rooms available?"

"The family is on the third floor and the other two on this floor don't have fireplaces."

"And I need a fireplace, why?"

"Heat."

"What? We have…." the whole house shuddered, the windows rattled and everything went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean held the trash can with one hand and the other held his throat, for surely it had crawled into his mouth and engaged his tongue in a war to prevent being pushed back to where it belonged. Lordy-Lordy-Lordy but he did not feel well. What the hell was wrong with him anyway? Sitting upright wasn't helping him feel any better and trying to recall what was going on made him dizzy. Fog and cobwebs crisscrossed his memory and muddled his ability to think coherently but what the hell; he closed his eyes, scrunched his nose, furrowed his brow and gave it his all.

He'd been stung by bees – repeatedly. By lots and lots of bees; fucking huge bees, the biggest-ass bees he'd ever seen. He'd been at the bunker with Kevin, not Sam who had…well, he hadn't been there so he'd allowed Kevin to remove the stingers – he frowned, fingers massaging his temple over his left eye – bees left stingers? Huh! Well, then what? Oh right, he'd gone to lie down because he hadn't really felt well because having numerous bee-stingers ruthlessly plucked and dug and cut from one's skin _hurt_ …...but Kevin couldn't leave him alone. Oh hell no, the kid had come barging in, blathering on about allergies and allergic reactions being lethal and bee venom causing renal failure and any hope Dean had of controlling the situation was lost. Kevin had been frantic, arms flapping like a ducks wings when taking flight from the water.

Dean didn't know what the kid had been so worried about, he wasn't allergic to bee stings, just apple seeds and somewhere, he had, or had had at one time, an epi pen but either he hadn't made Kevin understand or the kid hadn't cared, because no epi pen had been found – or searched for – and there'd been a car ride, and the ER, then the ER floor, which apparently got you immediate attention for he'd woken up on a table – he growled, without his clothes, damn hospitals always wanted you naked, it's why he hated them – an ambulance – could that be right? An ambulance ride…needles and tubes and more needles and another car ride with Kevin driving again….and then…..and then….nothing.

No, no, wait. There'd been rain and wind and mud and more rain, a lot of rain…an old man dressed in yellow….he giggled; had he gone upstairs to kiss a fellow? No, wait, that'd been Cinderella, hadn't it? And wasn't it a chant to a jump-roping game? Yeah, he probably shouldn't know that. Oh-oh, his mind was wandering – again – and he was losing his ability to retain it. He looked around, eyes bleary, vision blurry but even so, nothing was familiar. He _most_ certainly wasn't home, so where the hell was he, how had he gotten there, why was he there and was he still with Kevin?

His nose twitched then wrinkled, then ran as the smell wafting up from the trash can assaulted his nostrils. His stomach soured and threatened another rebellion so he set the can on the mattress behind him, plucked tissues from the box on the nightstand and gingerly slid to the edge of the mattress – wait! – he dangled a foot and tapped empty air by rotating his ankle until his toes connected with the wooden stool. Ah-ha! Not falling for that again. The floor was further away than it should be, his hip wasn't about to let him forget his last attempt of getting out of bed, and this time he wasn't going to add yet another bruise to his already black and blue, red-spotted, needle-punctured, swollen body.

The fit Sam had thrown when Dean had gotten his ass handed to him would be considered mild compared to the epic meltdown Sam would have if he could see him now. He giggled again; holy hell, the not-so-jolly giant would birth a freakin' cow! His nose blew bubbles and he wiped at it with the back of his hand, belatedly realizing what his other hand held was tissues. He groaned, holding his head with both hands, tissues forgotten. He really needed to stop giggling. He didn't giggle. Why was he giggling?

His legs were shaky but held his weight as he stepped from the stool to the floor, fingers still gripping the sheet on the mattress. His feet were bare and floor was cold and he couldn't help but hop. Panting and breathing hard from the exertion of hopping, he finally found a carpet where, still holding to the mattress and not knowing why, he leaned over so he could peek beneath the bed. Nope, despite the multitude of room, nothing was hiding under there. He started to straighten up when with a shudder, the room went dark. He reeled, thrown off-balance by the sudden darkness and crashed head first into the nightstand.

***000***

A light flashed and the hallway was lit by a hand-held flashlight. "Your own supply, huh." Kevin commented as Sam flashed the beam down the hallway to each door, towards the stairs then up the hallway to the flight of stairs that led to the third floor, searching for a threat that wasn't there.

"What?" Sam asked absently, more than a bit annoyed over this latest development.

"It's the weather Sam, you know, the storm." Kevin said. "Loss of power was expected."

Sam shrugged, thoughts elsewhere. He wanted to be warm and dry, wanted a hot shower and clean clothes, wanted a hot meal and a comfortable bed but nope, it wasn't to be. At least, not yet, like it or not, he had both an obligation and a responsibility to see that all inhabitants of the house were safe and prepared for a night without heat or electricity. He harrumphed, now where had that thought come from? How the hell had it become his job? Well, maybe it was because no matter where he went or where Dean was, trouble followed them and more often than not, they brought danger and evil with them.

His priority was Dean, and keeping from him their situation was top of his list. Should the stubborn ass become aware of their predicament – being stranded in a freak storm with Kevin, away from the safety of the bunker – he'd insist on either helping with whatever needed to be done or finding a way to leave. Well, Sam frowned, he might if he had an inkling what the hell was going on.

Sam scowled when voices were heard coming up the steps, their intimate arrival preceded by a beam of light. "Great." he pulled the door to Dean's room closed. "Kids? There are kids staying here?" he thumbed at the space on his forehead between his eyebrows. All this scowling and frowning was giving him a headache. Yeah, that was it, had nothing to do with lack of sleep, no food, stress and concern or the tension from driving in the shitty weather that had raged on for what, over twenty-four hours now? Nuh-uh.

"I didn't know."

"Jesus Kevin..."

"Don't look at me like that!" Kevin said defensively. "It's not my fault. How can you think it's my fault?"

"You brought him here."

"And you drove here! The motel was skeevy, not to mention full and yeah, couldn't afford the friggin' resort. You think it'd been better, I shudda parked in their parking lot and waited this storm out in the car? Did you see anywhere else to stay? "

"I don't even know how the hell you got to the state of Nebraska!"

"Yeah, well, me neither." Kevin mumbled, hanging his head.

"And what the hell's with you? Blathering on about rock salt and cutting off heads of vampires? Rule number one Kevin, we don't talk about what we do!"

"Yeah, okay, fine. How about first, you teach me not to panic when you're all bat-shit crazy?!"

Sam sighed, reaching out to give Kevin's shoulder a comforting squeeze. He well knew how difficult living with Dean was, the kid was doing his best and if Sam were to be honest, he'd done a damn good job so far. He'd known Dean had needed a doctor, had gotten him both to a hospital and to accept treatment and though he may have gotten lost trying to return home…..the bunker wasn't easy to find…he'd gotten Dean to comfort and safety. And though Sam wanted to blame the kid for this entire mess, it truly wasn't his fault.

"Has he eaten anything?" Sam regrouped and asked.

"No." Kevin replied glumly, staring at the floor. "I offered but he refused and I didn't know whether or not to push and I didn't know how to make him and…."

"What about meds?"

"I have what the doctor gave me, but I wasn't able to get his prescriptions filled."

"Has he taken any?" Sam asked impatiently. "What are they anyway? What are they for?"

"Yeah, earlier today, but…."

Clomp, clomp, thud, grunt, sounds of playful slapping, ineffective sssh's and more clomping and the family of four crested the last step.

"See! I told you! It was Conan!"

"Shush, now…don't disturb the other guests."

The two boys crowded around Sam who stood guard outside Dean's closed door in the hallway. "Where's your sword dude?"

"Wow! You sure are tall!"

"Your rooms are on the third floor." Kevin interrupted the chattering two-some because neither parent attempted to move their irritating offspring along. "Keep going."

"Here now." Edith was behind them with a lantern flashlight. "Earl and Pete will be along shortly with fire wood. Are you still leaving or have you decided to stay?" she asked Sam, handing out key-chain size flashlights.

"I'll be staying ma'am." Sam shivered, still dripping. "I'll share Kevin's room."

"That'll be fine." she nodded her agreement with his decision. "Both beds are made and may I say, wise decision? No one should be out in that weather tonight." she clucked her tongue. "Haven't seen the river but I know from past experience, the bridge must be underwater."

"It was when I walked across it." Sam admitted. "Dean's not too settled and I don't want to take him out in this rain so, guess I wait until the weather clears."

"Well then, best you get out of those wet clothes. I can't wash them until the power comes back on, but I'll get them soaking so the mud doesn't set in. I'll get you a robe."

"I have a change of clothing in the car." Sam said, plucking his wet t-shirt from his damp skin with a sign of resignation, he didn't relish going back outside.

"Surely, you don't mean to walk back to the bridge and attempt to cross it?" she gasped aghast, hand to her heart. "No, I won't hear of it. It's dark and the wind could bring down a branch right on your head!" she shook her head. "I forbid it."

Sam smiled, envisioning her stomping her foot for dramatic effect. "No ma'am. I have clothes in my brother's car."

"Oh, I see." she conceded with a nod of her head, granting him her permission to retrieve his clothes. ""Well then, that's fine."

Sam hesitated, recalling they were some distance out in the middle of nowhere. "Is there water or are you on a well?"

"A well." she gave him a sympathetic smile. "We have rain barrels to fill buckets of water to flush and if needed, there's an outhouse just beyond the barn but I doubt it will be needed, there's no shortage of water." she gave a chuckle of mirth. "I'll heat some water while you retrieve your clothes and while you wash up, I'll rustle you up something to eat."

"Thank you." so in addition to lugging wood up the stairs all night to heat two bedrooms – he slanted an eye at the father of the two most annoying brats he'd ever met – two flights of steps and four bedrooms, he'd be hauling water as well.

"I'll get you a towel, some soap and a blanket."

The family moved on their way and Edith descended the steps and was out of sight when a thud from behind the still closed door of Dean's room caused both Sam and Kevin to lunge for the door knob.

"DEAN?" Sam barreled past Kevin, shoving him aside and causing him to stumble and fall against the wall. He flung the door open and fell through, Kevin hopping about trying to see over or under Sam's shoulder or around him. "What the…..?"

A lot of things in life amazed Sam, most dumbfounded him and some, such as Dean's ability to injure himself resulting in the rapid onset of symptoms comprised of but not limited to; heavy bleeding, immediate bruising and instant swelling, remained forever beyond his comprehension. 'Cause really, the fool couldn't have fallen out of bed and cracked his head more than seconds ago, and already his left temple where he'd struck the sharp corner of the nightstand was split, bleeding, and sporting an egg-sized swollen lump with his forehead showing promise of a severe bruise.

"I'll go ask Edith for some ice." Kevin sighed but then brightened. At least Sam was now there to take care of Dean and he wouldn't have to.

"Grab his feet and help me get him on the bed." Sam said wearily, moving the trash can to the floor and using a foot to push Dean over to his back. He'd have to see to Dean before he could shed his wet, muddy clothes, wash up, dress comfy and sit down to eat. It was going to be a long – very long – night. "Ask her for some warm water and a soft cloth." he shone the light over the crumpled body at his feet, following the trickle of blood down his cheek where it separated like a Y, one path behind his ear, the other down past his jaw "Several soft cloths." he amended with a sigh. "Great."

He glanced around the room for something to use to keep Dean from bleeding all over the bed. Tissues were plentiful and within reach but worthless. He reached over and snagged a pillow, quickly shaking it free of its case then used it to clumsily wipe the blood from his brother's face before making a sloppy makeshift bandage. Good enough, though should Dean move his head with any force, it would fall off, only tucked behind his ear like a woman with long hair keeping it out of her face.

"Do you need antiseptic?" Kevin squatted down to lift with his knees, not his back. Dean was by no means a light-weight. "Good God!" he lifted, grunted, stood and tossed Dean's dead weight up onto the bed. Damn, that bed was friggin' _high_ off the floor.

"We have a first aid kit in the car." Sam replied absently, settling Dean more comfortably on the bed than the position in which Kevin had dropped him. "With an LED lantern. I'll need the light to see how bad it is."

"I'll see what Edith has." Kevin said miserably. He hoped she would have what was needed to treat a Winchester injury but was resigned to dashing out to the car. He hugged his robe close, maybe Peter would let him borrow his boots and slicker. "Sam? You ok?"

"Yeah, hurry up." flashlight between his teeth, Sam probed with his thumb and finger at the bloody flap of skin over his brother's eyebrow. He wasn't too worried, head wounds bled a lot and despite the swelling and bruising, he was quite sure Dean wouldn't require stitches.

His eyes fell on the robe lying across the bed bench, he was wet and cold and shivering…..so screw it. He glanced at Dean, decided he would be fine left alone for a moment, and dashed down to the bathroom, robe in hand, where he shed his clothes, dried off with a towel and wrapped up in the robe, toweling his hair dry. Leaving his clothes in the tub, he returned to Dean's room.

"Never make anything easy for me do you?" Sam sighed. Dean hadn't regained consciousness, hadn't even moved, Kevin had yet to return and the room remained dark and would soon be cold. "Course not." he went over to the fireplace and shone the flashlight at the grate then set about getting a fire going. He could keep the room warm while waiting for Kevin to return with the requested supplies so he could take care of Dean's most recent contribution to the night from hell.

***000***

Kevin found Edith in a room off the kitchen where clothes were soaking in a large cement sink. Kevin shone his light over the sink then dipped a finger in….water was warm so she must have heated water somewhere; Sam's coat, his plaid shirt and….his jeans, huh where had Edith found those? He snickered, what was it with clothes disappearing and robes appearing? Edith was on her knees, head and shoulders deep in a cupboard, setting candles and lanterns and oil lamps and flashlights around her on the floor. A variety of batteries followed as well as several large bottles of lamp oil, wicks, boxes of matches, and lighters.

"Aah…..Mrs…..um…ma'am?"

"I'll have your rooms set up with light in a jiffy." her cheerful muffled voice came from within the cupboard. "Pete and Earl are bringing the pails in from the barn and will leave several in each bathroom. I have some water heating on the stove so your friend can wash up. Do you need help lighting the fire in your room?"

"Huh?" hell, he hadn't given his room any thought but a nice well-fed fire would be welcome. "Oh…no….Dean, he um, fell out of bed….Sam needs…"

"Oh My Goodness!" her head popped out and she pulled herself to her feet with aid of the cupboard. "Is he all right? Did he hurt himself? Oh, that poor boy just isn't having a good day is he?"

"Not a good couple of days." Kevin muttered under his breath. "Uh, yeah…he did….No, no, no…..don't worry. Sam's taking care of him. I need to run out to the car and get the first aid kit. Do you think maybe I could borrow Pete's rain slicker?"

"Oh, of course you can. He's wearing his good one, but we have extras." she stepped over the various piles on the floor. "I have a first aid kit. I'll take it right upstairs." she scurried into the kitchen. "What did he do?"

"Smacked his head." he didn't elaborate that Dean had split his temple open and knocked himself out. Not because he thought it wasn't any of her business, but because it didn't occur to him to do so. "Sam asked for some hot water and soft cloths."

"Absolutely." she nodded. Busy with her mission of gathering first aid supplies, her former mission of gathering 'loss of power supplies' was forgotten. "Now, let's see…." arms full with various towels and cloths, boxes and bottles tucked under her arm or cradled in the crook of her elbow, she used her shoulder to nudge open the freezer. "Does he require ice?"

Kevin snapped his fingers then smacked his forehead. "Yes!" he sprang forward and grabbed the bowl she indicated from the counter and filled it with ice from the freezers ice maker. "Ahh….." he held it, awkwardly searching for a way to add it to the pile in her arms.

"Don't you fret. He'll be just fine." her arms full, she patted Kevin with her finger tips, then took the bowl with them, asked him to tuck a flashlight under her chin, directed him to the closet that housed boots and slickers and hurried off.

"Sure." Kevin said to the empty room, feeling isolated and alone. "He'll be fine. He's always fine." he found the closet, donned the outdoor weather garments and let himself out the back door. He was across the lawn and reaching for the door handle of the car before it occurred to him he might need the car keys. He didn't, which was a good thing, because he had no idea where he'd left them.

He found a duffel bag with clothes on the back seat and slung it over one shoulder. He didn't care who the clothes belonged to, they were the only ones he found and he wasn't coming back out. He swung the back door shut and opened the driver's door to pop the trunk. Wow. He paused to study the storm that continued to rage on with no signs of abating. The sky was dark, the clouds multiple without gaps, no hint of sky to be seen. The wind tore at the trees and bushes and shrubs, the rain alternated between heavy downpours, hail, sleet – yes, sleet – and thunder rumbled and lightning flashed.

Shaking his head, Kevin found the first aid kit in an old army-green sack and closed the trunk. The likes of this storm were nothing he'd ever seen before, it'd been raging on without pause for what, twenty some hours now? Wow, had it been just yesterday that it'd been warm and sunny with Dean playing outside, resulting in a trip to the ER, a detour, and holing up in frilly, feminine B&B? Really?

A gust of wind tore at his slicker, exposing his legs to the icy rain. His musings about odd weather came to an abrupt end and he took off for the security of the house. He saw the barn in a flash of bright lightning, but didn't see either Pete or Earl. Perhaps they were already inside. The house was near the woods, but no trees were close enough to the house to crush it should one become uprooted. Well, that made him feel slightly better.

***000***

"Sam, is it?" Edith knocked with her toe. "Hello?" the door was ajar and she completed the open swing her toe had started. "Oh, you started the fire! How delightful! You must have been a boy scout!" she let her arms drop their load on the dresser then began to set the items to rights in the order she felt they'd be needed.

"Uh….yeah, sure." he rolled his eyes, boy scout, yeah, right. "Um….we're fine. I'm sure you have a lot to do."

"Oh pish." she waved him off. "Now what happened? Kevin said he fell out of bed?"

"I…."

"Hit his head, did he? Don't you worry, head wounds always bleed a lot." she assured him with a pat on his arm. He sat on the bed, well, had a hip perched on the mattress and even his long leg only brushed the floor. "I'm going to toddle off and find my ice bag, and bring up a pan of hot water, be right back."

Sam slid to the floor and stepped over to the dresser. "Why is the bed so high from the floor?" hmm, she had a decent notion of first aid supplies. He picked up a soft white cloth and a bottle of warm water…yeah, he was going to need more.

"Isn't it the loveliest furniture?" she gushed. "That bed is genuine 17th century. See the wood overtop? We softened it with a white canopy but the carvings and wood work was all done by hand." she was positively beaming. "Goes well with the style of this house, don't you think?"

No, not really, Sam thought. The house was not from the 17th century, hell Nebraska hadn't even existed then and while the house was Victorian in design, 17th century furniture was not but she had 'toddled' off. It wasn't until she returned he realized he'd never received an answer to his question regarding the unusual height of the bed. Well, it could be due to modern day mattresses. A pillow-top could be as deep as 24", and take in to account the mattress would be sitting on box springs and…but still…that didn't explain why the bed itself could harbor a moose beneath it. He grinned…a moose. Hee-hee-hee!

"Do you need my help?" she set a pan of water on the nightstand and the ice bag on the dresser. "Is he the restless type? I could hold his hand while you clean his wound."

"No…no….he'll be fine. Thank you."

Dean was content to remain in blissful oblivion. His skin didn't itch or smart or burn and his hip didn't throb and his head didn't hurt and his stomach didn't hate him and his throat wasn't rebelling and he could breathe without his chest aching and his nose didn't run…..but….no,no,no,no,no,no….oh bloody hell no. His head hurt badly enough…no help was needed to make it feel worse and…..what the hell was that?!

"Easy." Sam murmured, dabbing and wiping and rubbing, chasing Dean's lolling head along the pillow with patience. "Dean, hey…come on, cut it out." he used his opposite thumb to hold his brother's head still. "Let me see, you dumb ass." he was trying to be careful but as soft as the cloth was, Dean's eyes were red and dry and swollen, his nose was raw, his lips were cracked and his cheeks and jaw were puffy so scrubbing any part of his face brought forth a whine or a whimper and increasing resistance.

"Sam?" Kevin staggered in, weighted down with the duffel from the car, the duffel Sam had left on the front porch and the sack that had turned out to be the first aid kit. "What can I do?"

"Gauze." Sam said without looking up.

Kevin set the green sack on the bed bench and unzipped it. Oh sure, the sack contained the usual store-shelf plastic box kit that was in most households but it was full of Band-Aids and a variety of over-the-counter pain relief. Everything else was willy-nilly within the sack: ace bandages and slings and braces and bags to hold ice and cold packs and heat packs, a heating pad and rolls and rolls and rolls of gauze – if Kevin was ever invited to a Halloween party and wanted to go as a mummy, he knew where to find his costume – and tape and towelettes and pads and rolls of cotton and sprays and….smelling salts?...eyewash and wipes and more bandages, antiseptic and burn creams and rubber gloves as well as suture kits, some kind of glue, syringes, strong not-found-on-any-store-shelf pain killers, surgical scissors and scalpels and forceps and tweezers and on and on and...what the hell was that?

"What's this?" Kevin asked, digging through the bag, identifying items as he pawed them aside, discarding that and ignoring this. Wow, they had a lot of shit in one little ole bag.

Sam barely spared him a glance. "Stapler."

"For paper?" Kevin asked stupidly. He was beyond simple comprehension. "Why?"

"Skin."

Kevin swallowed…..yuck. "Okay, so is this the skin stapler remover?" he shuddered, odd-looking pliers dangling from his thumb and forefinger tips. "Ew!"

"Gauze Kevin." Sam ground out through gritted teeth.

"Right….yeah…..okay, got it." he held a roll in one hand, square pads in the other. "Here….is he….he okay?"

"Hit his head pretty hard." Sam commented absently, chewing on his lip. He'd hoped by now his brother would have come around but other than moving his head away in protest of Sam's ministrations, he remained unresponsive. "Guess he has to be, can't get him out of here."

Kevin eyed the pan of red water, gaze moving to where Sam held a folded cloth to the wound on Dean's forehead. "Still bleeding then?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "Kinda hoping he wouldn't need stitches."

"Then…Yay! You don't have to. You can staple him!" Kevin waggled the stapler with a cheeky grin that was met with a flat stare. "Maybe not."

"Hand me the Dermabond." Sam said with a tired sigh, the weight of the world - his world anyway - on his shoulders.

"The what?"

"Adhesive." Sam peeked under the cloth.

"Aah….." he waved his hands, helpless to understand what Sam meant. "Tape, you mean?"

"Glue Kevin, it's glue. Can you identify glue?" Sam snapped impatiently, beginning to become concerned Dean remained unconscious and losing patience with a dense Kevin.

"You know…" Kevin began. "Just say glue. Okay? Can you speak plain English to me? Is it that hard?" Band-Aids and gauze and rolls of tape fluttered towards Sam's head as an agitated Kevin threw his hands up. "A first aid kit in the house I grew up in held Band-Aids and Neosporin…..not suture kits and human staplers and skin glue!"

"What the hell is your problem?" Sam demanded.

"YOU! THIS! HIM!" Kevin began to pick up what he'd inadvertently thrown. "I'm a little stressed out here Sam! Killer bees and life-threatening allergic reactions and epic storms and being responsible for _him_ were not taught in advanced placement classes! So, yeah, it's all a little much!"

"He never should have been outside in the first place." Sam replied heatedly. "He was supposed to remain in bed."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should have made him understand that." Kevin retorted. "I tried. I'm trying here Sam. It's not easy, he's not easy, you know?"

"Uh, yeah Kevin. Yeah, I kinda do. My whole life…..so yeah, I know."

"And none of it's your fault? Yeah, right….sure. Whatever gets you through your day Sam."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that, you know? Maybe you shouldn't run off and leave him every time you get your panties twisted." Kevin said hotly. "Maybe you should have stayed home with him."

"I can be a bigger dick than Dean, so yeah, go ahead and piss me off Kevin. Just try me."

"How's he doing?" Edith's head poked around the door. "Can I get you anything else? I brought an extra blanket. Kevin, dear, I lit the fire in your room."

"Thank you." Kevin muttered.

"More hot water?" she offered.

"No, bleeding's stopped." finally, Sam thought then added, thankfully. For that meant he could use Dermabond rather than needle and thread. Stitches were better for deeper cuts and were noted for faster healing but Sam could make do with glue. He made a mental note to thoroughly research what medications had been given to Dean at the hospital and see if any had the side effect of excessive bleeding from an open wound. Yes, head wounds bled easily and a lot, but it had taken way too long to get the bleeding to stop.

"Has he woken up yet?" she asked, picking up the pan of dirty water and collecting the cloths Sam had used and discarded. "Poor thing must be simply exhausted. How hard did he hit his head? Did he hurt it?"

"He's hard-headed." Sam said wryly. It would be hard to determine if the ass had suffered a concussion what with the symptoms of the allergic reaction. He'd be more worried if Dean had whacked the back of his head because years of prior experience told him what to expect but still….couldn't rule it out.

"I have a plate ready for you." she said as she headed out the door. "Will you be down soon?"

"Yeah, I still want to wash up." Sam waited until she was gone, then took the glue from Kevin. "Okay dude, easy-peasy if you hold still." he applied the glue, taped a bandage over the wound then reached into the green sack and withdrew a small pen-like flashlight. Kevin squeaked, he hadn't seen it and it was so small - bright though - that he had trouble believing Sam had just pulled it blindly from within the jumbo of, well, medical stuff. Must have been in a side pocket….though Kevin hadn't seen any of those either.

"What do you need that for?" Kevin asked, watching as Sam thumbed Dean's eye opposite the side he'd hit his head and flashed the light in his eye. He repeated the gesture with the other eye before letting his brother's head go and getting up from the bed. "Oh."

Sam was satisfied Dean wasn't supporting a concussion. Well, fairly satisfied. Both eyes reacted positively to light, though the pupils were slightly unequal in size, the left larger than the right, but that was to be expected and nothing much to fuss over.

Nothing. Much.

He walked over to the armchair in the corner of the room, picked it up and carried it across the room where he placed it next to the bed. "I know you're tired….but I need something to eat." Sam said quietly to Kevin. "Could you just sit here and watch him so I can wash up and eat dinner?"

"Um….." Kevin bit his lip. Sure, he could, and he would, but watch him do what? "Yeah…..sure…..but…..um, why?"

"Just sit with him." Sam handed him the pen light. "Check his eyes….if his pupils are large or one is a lot bigger than the other or he vomits or there's a change in his breathing or he bleeds from either his ears or his nose or you know, throws a seizure…come get me. Can you do that?"

"Yeah….sure….sure I can." how long did Sam intend to take to wash and eat? Good God. Wait, seizure? "What?!"

"He might wake up." Sam continued, Lord, he'd better within the hour or the household would experience a seriously freaked out Sam. "If he's confused or combative, come get me."

"Just...how long are you going to be gone?" Kevin blurted out.

Sam grinned. "An hour or so." he turned the oil lamp down and turned off the LED lantern. Dimness and quiet would be Dean's two best friends for the next day or two.

"It takes you an hour to eat?" Kevin exclaimed in horror, glancing at the burden that would be his for the next hour or so.

"I'm going to see if I can help carry in water and wood. Fires take a lot of wood." Sam pushed Kevin into the chair. "Sit there, and don't take your eyes off him." in other words, words, that I'm not saying, 'don't let him get hurt while on your watch this time'. "Just start yelling if you need me."

That he could do, Kevin had a healthy pair of lungs, and when needed, he could scream like a girl. "Okay….."

Sam settled the ice bag on Dean's swollen forehead and with a pat on Kevin's shoulder, left the room. Kevin snagged the blanket Edith had left and attempted to get comfortable in the prettily decorated yet unpadded chair. Yeah, not gonna happen…..maybe a pillow…..yeah, Dean didn't need all four…there, that was better.

All was nice and quiet, the fire snapped, crackled and popped and the oak wood smelled sooooo good…there was even enough light from it he could read. He frowned, his book was in his room, just across the hall, but Sam had ordered him not to take his eyes off Dean. Perhaps he could back out of the room, leave both doors open, grab his book and return….Sam would never know he'd left darling Dean alone for less than a split second.

No…no…..Sam would know immediately the book hadn't been in the room when he'd left. Well, okay, he needed something to do or he'd fall asleep. Wouldn't Sam just love to return and find Kevin snoring…..yeah…..he'd never live it down. His eyes fell on the sack full of first aid supplies and whatnot. What a word, whatnot. From where did it originate?

Order may not be needed but if Kevin was going to live with the Winchester brothers, knowledge of its contents was. Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he moved to the floor and began to unpack the sack. Wow, sure was a lot of stuff…wait…..what was that noise?

"Dean?" he looked up but couldn't see the top of the bed so he got to his feet. Great. Sam gone less than ten minutes and Dean had to give him trouble. "Dean? Hey, you awake?"

 


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh no." Kevin breathed. "Oh no you don't. Don't you dare." he stood, frozen, waiting, breath held as Dean's head lolled on the pillow, and he moved about restlessly, right hand fluttering. "Right, yeah, okay…see, here's how it's gonna be dude. You're not gonna bleed, puke, leak or drool. Hell, don't you even sneeze! I don't do body fluids." he stepped closer to the bed and leaned over it, his face nose to nose with Dean. "And….." he pointed a finger. "You keep your eyes the same size, don't throw a fist at me, you damn well better know who you are and if you dare throw a frick-fracking seizure, I am so running as fast and as far as I can." he paused, waiting for some kind of reaction. "And I ain't never coming back." he used his extended finger to poke at Dean's shoulder. "Dean?" he poked a third time then grinned when Dean didn't awaken. He clapped his hands, the sound muffled by the rolls and wads of gauze he held. "Yeah, that's right, you sleep."

Kevin resumed his seat on the floor, medical supplies spread-out around him and began to categorize. Dean didn't wake up or throw any kind concussion related reaction, but neither did he settle down. At every whimper or whine or sigh or groan, flop of an arm or kick of a foot Kevin rose to his knees, peered at Dean's elbow, for unless he rose to his feet that was all he could see, and muttered soothing nonsense. A process he kept repeating; a process that caused him to make little headway in….in….in…well, in whatever the hell he was doing.

At some point, Kevin had no idea how much time had passed, Sam returned. He was dressed but Kevin had no recollection of Sam leaving the room with the spare clothes Kevin had dragged in from the car. He didn't say anything, just glanced at Dean, cursed, frowned at the clock, cursed, looked at his watch as though he hoped it would tell him a different time, cursed, glared at Kevin and left.

It took a while for Kevin to become aware of the cause of Dean's restlessness.

"Oh no." he muttered. He sat on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. Yup, nope, not thunder, not a freight train, not an earthquake or a tornado. Seriously, what the fuck? Thhh-wunk! What the hell was that? Thhh-wunk! A herd of elephants? No. Just…..no. Oh no. Thhh-wunk! It couldn't be, could it? Could two small boys make that much noise? Continuously? Without pause? For so long? How much time had gone by? Thirty minutes, maybe? Thhh-wunk! What the fuck were they doing?

Thumpity-thump-thump. _Thhh-wunk!_ Thumpity-thump-thump. _Thhh-wunk!_ Thump, bump, thump. _Thhh-wunk!_ Seriously? Of all rooms, they had to occupy the one directly above Dean? Kevin cringed, getting to his feet as a loud thump made the walls vibrate and caused knick-knacks to dance on their shelves. Okay, so no harm should they fall. The bed had that huge ass protective canopy…a picture frame fell from the wall and hit the floor with a shatter of glass. Yeah, there was the harm. The noise was disruptive and painful to an injured, unwell Winchester. The disturbance was even annoying to Kevin and when a bird statue toppled to the dresser and shattered, Kevin marched up the stairs to the third floor. He not-so-politely asked their father to refrain his kids from making so much noise and returned to Dean's room.

Ten minutes of silence: Bang-bang-bang. Whoop-whoop-whoop. Thumpity-thump-thump. _Thhh-wunk!_ Another trip upstairs; no politeness, an order not a request and a dire warning before departing to return to Dean. Maybe seven minutes of silence: Chitter-chatter, clang-clang, yodel-yowl-yelp - Kevin waited - _Thhh-wunk!_ yup, there it was. Another trip upstairs; a threat – don't upset the already pissed-off younger brother, and a promise – the forecasted arrival of super storm Sam, finally got his point across for when he returned to Dean's room, nothing but blissful silence.

Kevin was unaware of upset, pissed-off super storm Sam passing the room and ascending the stairs to the third floor, finally cementing the silence from the room above.

"You keep these kids either on your floor, in this room and out of that one or downstairs at the back of the house." Sam had both kids by the back of their necks and stood in the doorway of the room occupied by their parents. "And I better not hear any banging, thumping, hooting or hollering." he dropped the boys with enough care to ensure they landed on their feet, but from there, he didn't care if they remained standing. "Try some parental supervision and have some consideration for the other people in this house."

"Now just a minute." dad sputtered as mom gathered the kids to her side. "You have no right to lay a hand upon either of my sons. Just who is it you think you are?"

Sam stepped closer, hands fisted and though dad held his ground, he swallowed nervously. "I don't care about you or your family. Go ahead, try me. Keep pushing." he waited but even the boys were silent. "My brother's asleep and he better remain that way until he wakes up on his own. No more jumping on the floor above his room." he took a breath, gathering his anger and patience. "Find something for them to do."

"Or what?" dad countered stupidly.

"Or it's not your kids who I'll lay a hand on."

When Sam descended the steps and returned to Dean's room, Kevin slept curled up on the floor amid medical supplies. He grinned, leaving Kevin be, then frowned. Dean had yet to waken, pale and sweaty and unresponsive to Sam's repeated attempts to bring forth consciousness so he took up residence in the chair and began his vigil.

It wasn't long before Kevin woke with a moan. He was stiff and sore from….huh, why was he stiff and sore? Oh right, he was on the floor. He must have fallen asleep….oh shit, he'd fallen asleep on the floor! Oh Shit! He'd fallen asleep on the floor while on Dean Duty. Yeah, how well was Sam going to handle that? He bolted up, yawning as he stretched his arms over his head. Okay, get up, pee, get a drink, think of a plan to either placate Sam or map an escape…..he rolled to his knees, arching his back like a cat to stretch before climbing to his feet. Figures, he'd fallen asleep on the hard, drafty floor, clear across the room from the well banked fire.

"Hey."

"AAAHHHH!" Kevin shrieked, feet leaving the floor as he jumped and whirled around in search of his skin he was quite sure he'd just vacated. "DON'T DO THAT!" he yelled in a furious whisper. "JESUS CHRIST SAM! Make me jump outta my skin, why don't ya? Geez!" hand over his heart, he waited for it to resume its normal rhythm. And waited….and waited. "I think you gave me a heart attack!" he gasped, still waiting. "Good God!"

"You didn't see me here?" Sam asked from the chair that, though pretty, was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture Kevin had ever sat in. The floor was preferable to that torturous device masquerading as a chair.

"NO! I didn't _see_ you sitting in the _dark_! _Who_ does that?" Kevin accused. "Lurk in the dark to scare the bejesus out of someone?"

"You snore."

"Do I? Dean didn't mind."

Sam looked at the bed. "Yeah, well."

"What are you doing here?"

"I told you to watch him."

"I did! I mean…." Kevin took a deep breath. "I didn't leave him alone." Sam glared and Kevin hung his head. "He hasn't woken up yet?"

"No."

"How long has it been? What time is it?"

"Going on 2."

"A.M.!" Kevin exclaimed. He went over to the window. Yup, still rained, still thundered, lightning still flashed, wind still whipped….great, the storm _still_ raged on. "STILL?!"

"Hasn't let up at all." Sam confirmed tiredly, sitting up and leaning forward, elbows on knees. "Go to bed."

"What about you?" Kevin turned back to the bed. "How is he?"

"Sleeping."

"You sure?" Kevin asked dubiously. "Oh! Hey." he knelt down and patted around the floor with his hands. "Look what I found! Epipen!"

"Yeah." Sam yawned, ready to seek his bed. "We always carry one."

"Oh." he stared at it. Would it have worked had he known to look for it? "You said he was allergic to apples? I've seen him inhale apple pies Sam."

"Apple seeds, not apples." Sam corrected tiredly. "Completely different allergic reaction."

"So…he's ok?" Kevin didn't understand but didn't feel like pursuing Sam for clarification. "You sure? I mean...wow, way to throw a reaction."

"Yeah. He's exhausted and he hurts and he doesn't want to wake up and face me. Go on. Go to bed."

"And you?" Kevin paused at the doorway. "I've sat in that chair Sam. It's deceptively evil."

"I'll be along in a minute."

No, you won't, Kevin thought. "Here's the meds they sent him home with." he handed them to Sam as well as the prescriptions. "I, uh, didn't know what pharmacy to have them called in to so…" he shrugged as Sam accepted the sample packets and the white slips of paper. "See you at breakfast." he didn't expect nor receive a response and with another shrug, left the room.

Sam sat for a while longer, sprawled in the chair that no matter how many different positions he contorted himself into, didn't provide comfort. He eventually got up and stoked the fire, adding another log. He stood between the fireplace and the bed, rubbing his forehead wearily. He had to go to bed; he couldn't keep on his current path, his body wasn't going to allow it. Sleep was a necessity. He'd already appeased its demand for nutrition and rest wouldn't be denied.

"Don't suppose…since it's just you and me…you'll wake up now?" Sam sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I promise I won't yell at you." he waited, somewhat hopeful but nothing; not a hitch in breathing, not a flutter on an eyelid. "I know you feel like shit and I know your head hurts but Dean, man come on, don't do this to me." he sat back down in the chair, squirming against its unforgiving hardness. "Don't make me spend the night in this fucking chair." he gave up the belief he'd be able to crash in the comfy-cozy bed that awaited him across the hall. "Dude…..you know I don't deal well when..….if I, if you…I mean when you're….hurt….or in danger or taken away from me." no response to that heart-felt admission, figures. "I'm not losing you again. You hear me? I don't care what it takes, if you aren't awake by noon, I'll find a way to get you out of here and take you to a hospital. It'll be your fault if I get crushed by a tree or struck by lightning or drown trying to cross the bridge." he paused, still nothing. "Or lose your car in the river…." but not even the threat of danger to his baby brought forth a response. "Yeah, course not."

Sam snagged the blanket and pillow Kevin had abandoned on the floor and tried to make a nest in the chair but it wasn't to be accomplished. He had two options; claim the twin bed in the room with Kevin or occupy Kevin's vacated spot on the floor. A clap of thunder shook the house, knick-knacks rattled on their perches, Dean stirred with a muffled moan and his decision was made. Giving up on the chair, he kicked it out of his way and lowered himself to the floor. Dawn was only a few hours away and after breakfast, there was work to be done.

***000***

Dean twitched, muttering incoherently. "Ooooooooooo." he moaned, limp hand flopping towards his aching head and the heavy lump sitting upon his forehead in an uncoordinated wave. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." he groaned, head rolling on the pillow. "Owwwww."

"Hey there. Morning."

Dean blinked. What a vision. Asian…yes, beauty…not so much, busty…he blinked rapidly, a vain attempt to force his vision into single alignment that failed. He turned his face away…..yup, that was a wall and a dresser…..okay….he turned back to peer at the face hanging over his head…nope…..damn.

"Dean, hey, it's me. Kevin." he was sure Dean's eyes had flickered and he waited for a sign of recognition, a sign that Dean had finally woken up, a sign he really wished to relay to Sam, but received nothing.

"Ugh." Dean rasped out, throat thick. "Awww-agh." he swallowed, dry tongue licking his lip, seeking moisture. His hand finally found his head and knocked the offending lump off. Cupping his eye with his palm, his fingers discovered the bandage. Ah-ha! So, that's why his brain was jack-hammering against his skull. Ow! "Sam?" he struggled to grasp the tantalizing just-out-of-reach image of what was going on and where he was but the vision – and his memory – remained elusive.

"Sam? Did you say Sam? Yeah, sure." Kevin sputtered with a sigh of exasperation. "Him you remember." someone had left a plastic tumbler on the nightstand containing water and melting cubes of ice. "Want some water?" he thought about the meds but Sam was so touchy about Dean taking anything he decided to let Sam decide when – if – Dean should take more. Maybe he already had, Kevin didn't know what Sam had done after Kevin had gone to bed. He turned the wick on the lantern up, the flame flickering within the glass dome. Dean moaned, turning away. "Dude, really?" yeah, like the little lick of flame was oh so bright. He moved the lantern to the other side of the night stand. "Happy?"

Another moan. "Ugh." he moved restlessly, swallowing hard after a dry cough. "Ughm."

"Try not to spill any." Kevin admonished, holding the cup out with every expectation Dean would take it. He gave the cup a swish and water sloshed. "I'm in no mood to change the bed." not like he'd be the one doing it, he'd ask Edith for sheets and she'd most likely insist on completing the chore herself. "You, aah….Dean? Hey? Need you to wake up. Dean? You look better, you know, not so…so…not so puffy." apparently the ice had helped more than the swelling on his temple and forehead. "Don't you want to see how much better you look?"

Another moan, fingers poked about the bandage, eliciting both a groan and a wince.

"Yeah, well, hard as your head is, that petrified wood nightstand is harder." Kevin swatted at this hand. Dean was feeling pain. That was good, wasn't it? "Stop that. Hey, I said stop…..cut it out Dean! It's only glue!" he didn't know anything more than the normal Joe did about first aid or caring for the injured but he damn well knew for sure Sam did. "Sam's here. All rage and threats…..he's not happy."

The cup contained a straw and when Dean didn't wake up, sit up and take it like Kevin expected him to, he nudged the straw against Dean's lips when they parted on yet another moan. "Can you drink?" awake or not, Dean apparently knew what the straw was and how to use it. Though he didn't lift his head from the pillow, he clamped the straw between his teeth and sucked greedily.

"How is he dear?" Edith popped in, one arm full of various towels, the other carrying a large pan of steaming water. "Still imitating Sleeping Beauty is he? Lawks!" she exclaimed, dropping the load of linen and hurrying over to the bed. "Oh My Word! Not so much so fast!" she plucked the cup right out of Kevin's hand. "Goodness me, he'll throw it right back up and then there'll be a mess to clean up! Here." she passed the pan off to a bewildered Kevin and took over the chore of offering Dean water. "Sips, small sips." she coaxed soothingly. "That's it. Good, that's good. Bet that tastes good, doesn't it? More? Ok…just a little." she had a hand under the back of his head and gently returned his head to the pillow when he spit the straw out . She laid her palm on his forehead. "You poor dear, your brother was right. You do appear to be running a fever."

"Where's Sam?" Kevin set the pan down. He'd gone to bed just past 2 a.m. but Sam hadn't been in the other bed when he'd woken up and he doubted Sam ever had been in it. Sam never seemed to stay put and Kevin had no idea what he found to do. Wait...wait…..Dean was running a fever? From what and how had Sam known? Kevin frowned, brow furrowed and lips pursed as he concentrated on the contents on the first aid bag; had he seen a thermometer?

"Fireplaces take a lot of wood." Edith chirped cheerfully, setting the cup on the nightstand. "There's this one, the one in your room, two upstairs, one in mine and Pete's room, one in Earl's, the kitchen, the living room, dining room…"

"Yeah…aah….see…Sam, he…..well…he isn't….. and…..you know, mentally….he's, he's…." Kevin sputtered. "I don't think it's a good idea he handle an ax. Especially if someone else is within the vicinity of his….."

"What? Oh no." she laughed, waving him off with a languid gesture. "It's already chopped and cut and stacked. It just has to be carried in."

"Why didn't he get me up to help him?"

"He mentioned he would rather you remain here with his brother. No worry, the three of them will have enough wood for the day carried in in no time." she straightened out the blankets and fluffed the pillows. "There now, that better?" she soothed. "You awake up and you can take a bath. Shave. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"The three of them?" Kevin repeated. "What about…..?" he pointed to the ceiling. "Isn't he helping?"

"They are guests." her cheerful smile remained but dimmed slightly. "We would never think of asking our guests to do such chores."

"But he offered?" Kevin pushed, wouldn't hurt those kids to carry some wood either. They had boundless, pent-up energy and were old enough to help out. "Wow." he paused when Edith remained silent. "I bet Sam had something to say about that."

"Mmm." she murmured non-committedly. "Not ready to wake up and properly greet me, huh? Well, in your own time then." she turned to face Kevin and said. "You must be hungry. Wash up…." she waved towards the towels and hot water. "Then come downstairs and we'll get you something to eat."

Kevin shook his head. "Wait…just wait. You're saying dear old dad hasn't offered to help?" yeah, and neither have you, Kevin's internal conscious taunted. "But Sam did last night and is helping now?"

"He'll wake up soon." Edith announced. "If he's drinking, he's conscious so it's just a matter of time."

"Then yeah, I probably shouldn't leave him alone." Kevin said. "Sam will pitch a fit if Dean wakes up and he's alone. Good God, if he does something to further hurt himself…."

"Half an hour dear." she tweaked Kevin's cheek. "Sam isn't far nor will he be away from his brother for long. Now, off with you. Go bird-bath in the sink and by the time you're done and make your way downstairs, I'll have your breakfast on the table."

Kevin wobbled, hesitating. Thirty minutes. Sam hadn't said anything about not leaving Dean alone and Kevin was hungry. That pan of hot water was singing him a song, and even if it was a bird-bath in the sink, he would like to wash up. And he needed to brush his teeth…

"Alright." Kevin agreed. "Sure, half an hour." sure, Dean got the offer of a bath and Kevin got a pan of hot water, how was that fair? And it wouldn't be Dean filling pails from the rain barrels, heating water on the stove and lugging the water up the steps to fill the tub for his bath. Kevin snorted, he was sure Sam wouldn't do the same for him.

***000***

The wind had abated, the rain had slackened and the lightning reduced to occasional flashes, no longer lighting up the sky with jagged, forked streaks but any glee Sam had over that latest development was diminished when Pete told him the chance of severe flooding was a definite possibility. Dressed in borrowed galoshes that was a size too small but fit nonetheless and a borrowed slicker, Sam lugged pails of water and armloads of wood to the house and up the stairs where he distributed them to the necessary rooms.

Once that chore was completed, he began to clear tree limbs and debris the strong winds had strewn about, from the driveway, intending to drive to the bridge and see if it was possible to cross. Pete warned him it wouldn't be, but Sam intended to try. Whether they drove, walked or swam, it was going on 11:30 and every time Sam had checked on Dean, which was every thirty minutes, it was to find he had yet to awaken. Two hard smacks to his head in a week …come noon, Sam was crossing that bridge one way or another with his brother in tow.

***000***

Dean awoke to starbursts in his vision, cackling in his ears and rolling waves in his belly. Great! Yay! Hello world. He rolled to his side and watched the fire dance and weave around a recently added log. Okay, so where ever he was, he wasn't alone, his comfort seen to, and he had to pee. Right, yeah, best take care of that need before anything else. Sam would go ballistic if he pissed the bed. He slowly sat up, palm to his aching forehead, opposite arm curled against his stomach. But wait…..there was more! He was also hot and achy and itchy and confused.

Sam? Huh, now where had that thought come from? He was with Kevin…..no…he'd seen Sam. Right? Hadn't he? Yeah, he was quite sure he had and he was awake, right? He slowly surveyed the room, his eyes his only movement. Maybe not. The walls were paisley-printed, every possible surface covered with lace or doilies or knick-knacks, the furniture from the century of….no, he remembered this room. He was awake and Kevin had brought him here. Speaking of the often-hysterical little runt, there he was, sitting in a chair at the most feminine desk Dean had ever laid eyes on, sorting and rolling and packaging the contents of their first aid kit.

Dean cleared his throat. "Hey."

"Mmmm." Kevin glanced over "Hey, you're awake! Man, dude, about time. Worry us all, why don't you."

"Huh?" he inched his ass to the edge of the bed, paused, thought about it then slowly laid back down. Obtaining and maintaining a vertical position wasn't going to happen; stomach and head were not in agreement. Christ, he felt like shit.

"You going somewhere?"

"Piss." but he'd talked himself into accepting he really didn't have to go that badly, 'cause getting out of bed just wasn't a reality. "Can wait."

"You're not allowed to get up on your own. Sam's orders." he watched Dean frown in confusion. "You fell outta bed last time."

Dean thought of his hip and grimaced, sure that it sported a bruise. "I remember." he grunted, hadn't he fallen out of it twice? Yeah, he had, his hip and his head. Ow! "I…saw….so Sam's here?"

"Yeah. But, well….I don't know what he's doing here. I mean, I don't know why he came. I told him where we were and why but said we'd be home…." Kevin paused over that little inconstancy then shrugged it off. "Thought you were getting up." he got up and approached the bed but Dean held him off. "Need a hand?"

"No." Dean growled. "Lemme 'lone." he cradled his head. "Ooossh." he wanted to care, truly he did, but he didn't. Care that is. Wherever they were, Sam was with them and that was enough. "Why does my head hurt?"

"You smacked it a good one." he shrugged a shoulder. "Again. So, you gotta….you know….go?" Kevin blushed, making motions with his hands. "You need Sam? He'll give me a mohawk if I let you…..aah yeah, you know, maybe Edith can help you."

"Who help me do what?" he huffed. "Go 'way."

"But don't you need…..?" Kevin sighed. "Are you hungry? Can I get you anything? OK…okay, okay…no need to flip me off, just asking." he backed off. "I'll just go let Sam know you're awake."

Dean sighed, he wanted to call Kevin back but had neither the energy nor the gumption. Why did he need Kevin again? Oh right, the need to pee. By grasping bed blankets, mattress, bed post, chair, door, doorframe, wall, he made his way out of the room where he staggered and weaved his way down the hall.

"Wrong way there son." hands gently steered him the other way, pivoting him on unsteady feet by guiding his shoulders.

"Noo…" he dug his heels in and refused to move any further. "Bath….room….."

"Yup, right this way." Pete coaxed, leaving him slumped against the wall propped by his shoulder and going down the hallway to open the bathroom door. "See? It's this way."

"Fuck." for a dimly lit hallway, the light that lit his way hurt his head. As if his unspoken thought had been heard, the hallway darkened, shadows thrown by the table and open doors making him dizzy.

"Watch the shadows. There's no light in the bathroom, only a candle burning on the sink. Don't knock it over and get burned." Pete chuckled, helping him along, hand under his elbow. "I'm too old and far too tired to fight a house fire." the touch was more comfort then guide, for if he was going down, the old man wasn't going to stop him from falling. "Here you are." Pete left him at the door. "I'll send your brother up to help you back to bed. Give him a couple of minutes, he's outside and the youngster went to get him. Take a seat and stay put until he comes to get you."

Dean wasn't listening, focused on answering his call to nature where it should be accomplished. He was thirsty and wanted a drink, wanted to wash his face and though he found the sink and the faucet by feel alone, his eyes closed against the flickering flame from the candle, he wasn't able to make it work. Dazed and confused, he was clueless how the loss of power meant no water. Blind to the pails of water sitting on the floor, and cursing his inability to think straight, he kicked at the sink in frustration. Yeah, smart Dean, real smart. No water and aching toes to add to your list of complaints. Good, good one you dumbass.

Making his way agonizingly slow back to his room – he was fairly sure he'd recognize it – he was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other and remaining on them to take notice of the whooping whirlwinds that plowed right into him, knocking him off-balance, into the wall and off his feet.


	7. Chapter 7

"Fuck!" Dean rolled to his knees and prepared for a frontal attack…surprise rocking him ass-to-heels on the floor. "What the…..? Kids? They're…. kids?" he said bewildered, still looking and waiting to be pounced on.

"Here now!" dad cried out, hurrying down the hall – not to assist Dean to his feet – not to collar his rampaging off-spring – but to block their accessibility to Dean's raised fists. "Don't you _dare_ raise a hand to my sons!"

Dean frowned, hand? No, he had fists raised to protect himself from whatever evil force had knocked him off his feet. He growled, dizziness making the ability to think impossible.

"Not having a good time of it, huh?" hands guided him to his feet, the voice unfamiliar, the touch warm and firm. "Come on, right this way. That's it. Call me Edith, dear. Pete went outside to get your brother, tell him you're awake. Step up. Right foot….No? Don't want to go back to bed? Where do you think…oh, you want to sit at the desk….okay…sure, if you want." Edith backed up a few steps as Dean lowered himself into the fragile chair, unsure it would support his weight and expecting it to send him sprawling to the floor. "You….aah, don't want to go back to bed?" she paused. "Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat. What sounds good?" she waited. "What would you like?"

"Um." Dean yawned. "Huh?" he lowered his head to rest on his folded arms crossed upon the desk. "Gimme a minute." he tried to recollect his thoughts and focus his attention on the here and now but….nope. Wasn't gonna happen. Couldn't do it.

"Sam…" Dean accepted the plastic tumbler of water Edith held out. "He's...here? Some...where, ain't he?"

"Outside."

"This chair sucks." spindles dug into his back, the seat was too short for his ass, it had arms and it creaked and groaned under his weight every time he shifted. What the hell kind of diner seated their patrons in a chair like this? He held the cup against his forehead, then one cheek, then the other. Where was the menu? Had he already ordered? He needed a plate, didn't he? And silverware, unless he'd ordered a sandwich, he hoped he hadn't, for he really wanted hot soup. He'd need a spoon…..yeah, sure, that's why he didn't have a plate, he'd ordered soup. He frowned, tongue licking the cold water. No…no….plates or dishes came with the food, it was the silverware…..that….should be here, on the table, in front of him. He set the cup down and patted the desk surface with the palms of both hands…..huh, nope, no silverware. No worry, he always carried a knife in his shirt, though he'd still require a spoon…..his palms patted his chest down then each side of his belly, fingers reaching for his belt…..

"I have…..had….." he swallowed. "Clothes? Don't I have….clothes? Where are my clothes?"

"I washed them for you, they're folded right here on the bench." Edith hesitated, maybe pointing that out hadn't been a wise idea. Maybe it was best to get him off that train of thought. "More water?"

Dean made a face. He was seated at a table, with no menu, no silverware and no pants. The service was terrible….no, it was lacking altogether. Huh. He didn't like this diner. And what the hell was Sam doing outside? Was he still in the car? Didn't matter, 'cause Dean sure as hell wasn't going in search of his wayward brother. Wasn't even going to order for the sulking prick, let him find his own silverware. He was warm and dry and cozy and even befuddled and unable to recall where he was or why, he well knew it was cold and windy and raining outside. Nope, not gonna do it.

He still felt like shit, but he was regaining his ability to concentrate and sort out recent past events. Right, bees and doctors and hospitals and ambulances and storms and the dark and whacking his head and mighty midgets running amuck. He touched the bandage, wow didn't remember that. Right, head hurts Dean, leave off, you damn dummy.

Well then, stranded in a stuck-in-a-prior-century house, in a raging storm without power, lacking running water, away from the safety of the bunker, vulnerable to attack, Kevin to protect, Sam somewhere outside – what to do, what to do? Oh right, go back to bed.

"Stay put, your brother will be along shortly." Edith watched as he gained his feet and mounted the step stool after a miss or two with his raised foot. "Still a little shaky, eh? You get some rest, the more rest you give your body, the better you'll feel each time you wake up."

"Yeah, sure." the sheets were soft and warm, flannel maybe, or fleece, whatever, he sank into their depths and succumbed to sleep; crappy-ass diner and brother and prophet forgotten.

***000***

Sam stood outside the idling Impala, ass resting against her grille, hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring straight ahead. Just staring. At the oak tree. Lying across the road. Blocking his way. Making any further progress forward in the car impossible.

Pete and Kevin approached on foot from behind. Kevin, focused on finding Sam, had walked around the house numerous times, diverting over to the barn more than once. It had been Pete, who, once joining Kevin in the backyard had pointed out the Impala was gone and suggested Sam had likely driven off to look at the bridge. Kevin hadn't objected to Pete's suggestion he jump in the passenger side of the truck and ride along to trail after Sam.

"Holy cow!" Kevin exclaimed, throwing open the truck door and leaping from the seat. "Look at the size of that tree!"

Sam didn't move or acknowledge their arrival. Just stared ahead at the offending tree.

"Gonna need a chain saw." Pete commented, coming up to stand next to Sam. "Gonna take a while."

"Big one." Sam replied, thinking, a while? Gonna take all fucking day.

"Gonna need more than one." Kevin darted around Sam and went to stand in front the fallen oak tree. His shoulder just topped its height. "Can you both not see the SIZE of this thing?" there was no way around it either. "It's lying down and hey!" his arms waved wildly. "It's taller than me." and its girth couldn't be breached. No matter how high Kevin jumped, he couldn't throw himself atop it or reach across it.

"Any other road out?" Sam asked, watching Kevin's antics. Really, what had the kid so excited? It was just a tree! One he was eager to begin taking his frustration and anger out on.

"Nope."

Sam sighed, shifting his weight to his other foot. Sure, he could walk to the bridge, walk or swim across to the car he'd left on the other side but could Dean? He'd really like his brother to wake up and hold a conversation with him.

"…..to leave." Pete was saying. "What with this weather….no telling how the other roads….."

"Beg your pardon?" Sam said. "Sorry, wasn't listening." was thinking perhaps the storm wasn't due to natural occurrences. Anyone or anything could be searching, circling, waiting; held off by Kevin's wards and hex bags but eventually, they wouldn't be enough, the charms would fail and whatever - if anything even was - was the cause of the weather would get through.

"I was saying there's no need to leave. You're safe here. Plenty of food, heat and water and shelter…..you can stay as long as you need too. We won't turn you out."

"We need to go home."

"Why?" Pete asked bluntly. "Your brother's gonna be fine. He's awake, got up on his own. He ain't in no danger of dying. You got medication for him for a week, don't you?"

"Yeah….what? No….I mean….." Sam pushed his hair back, a fruitless gesture against the wind. "I….it's hard to protect him here. I can…..I will, but there are too many people here and I can't protect everyone and take care of Dean the way I need to." need to for me, he added silently, the way I want to, for my sanity.

"We mean him no harm." Pete objected. "Safest place 'til this storm goes away is right here. No trees are coming down on the house. Out on those roads though, it's another story and that's assuming the bridge is crossable."

"No…I mean….it's…..I'd just feel better if we were home. He's...they...I mean, we...my brother is safe there. Out here should anyone hear he's down and vulnerable, well…I…can't...and there's Kevin…..and those...kids. If it comes down to choosing...who to protect...I can't let it come to that. No, we need to go home. We're all safe there." he repeated. "And you're all safer if we aren't here. How much further to the bridge from here?"

"Mile or so, bit less. Look, I understand the feeling of safety. Everyone feels more secure at home, but…"

"Everything I got, my gut…..my instinct, the voice in my head, tells me to take him home…so…..I gotta. I have to get him there…..before….before anyone gets hurt." he paused, mind rewinding. "Wait, did you say…..? He's awake?"

"OH!" Kevin's attention was diverted from calculating the dimensions of the fallen tree. "RIGHT! Yeah, he woke up. It's why we came to find you."

"And you're just telling me now?" Sam exclaimed. "What the hell Kevin?"

"Sorry….just….this tree!" he waved his hands. "AAh….right….right….Dean." Kevin backpedaled hastily at the look to consume Sam's face. "Yeah, no see, he woke up, all right and okay, you know? Knew me, said he had to piss but wasn't hungry."

"So, you just left him alone to come get me?"

"No." Kevin scowled. "I told Edith and Pete he was awake then came to get you."

"I helped him to the bathroom and told him to stay put until you came to get him." Pete added. "By the time I found Kevin, he'd looked for you, noticed the car was missing and we came in my truck to find you."

"Ke…..vin." Sam groaned. "Have you learned nothing? He never does what you want him to, never obeys anything he's asked to do, never listens to a word anyone says and never stays where you leave him."

"Oh."

"We gotta go back for chainsaws, axes and Earl." Pete said. "You want to walk to the bridge and meet us back here?"

"Yeah." he sighed. He wanted to go back to the house with them, wanted to see with his own eyes, Dean awake and talking and suffering no ill effects of his most recent head injury, but why waste the time? Cutting up that tree was going to take hours, and he could walk to the bridge while they were gone and Dean would likely blow him off or curse him out for bothering him, yet…..

"Let's go back and have lunch before we tackle this here tree." Pete gave Sam a way out of admitting to his weakness – Dean – by giving him a reason to return to the house. Now he could see his brother and judge for himself just how all right and okay he was.

"Sure, yeah, okay. Some coffee maybe?" Sam opened the car door. "Thermos to go?"

"You betcha."

Kevin hopped into the passenger seat of the Impala, all smiles and bright-eyed. He was going to get to wield a chainsaw and an axe and chop up a tree! Woo-Hoo!

***000***

To Sam's annoyance and frustration; Dean didn't wake up when Sam popped in to say hi. He didn't awaken when Sam called to him and shook him and cat-called either. He slept through Sam's not-so-gentle examination as well but since Sam still found no evidence of a concussion, he reluctantly let Dean sleep. He didn't get a chance to speak to Edith either.

To Kevin's annoyance and frustration; wielding an axe and handling a chain saw was fun for ten minutes, then it became work, hard work. And despite four men, it was slow going, progress made but gained with sweat and sore backs and aching arms and tight shoulders. Yeah, he wasn't cut out to be Paul Bunyan Jr.

To Dean's annoyance and frustration; the mighty midgets were loud and noisy and roamed everywhere, thumping and clumping and hooting and hollering. Their parents were inconsiderate and indulging, ignoring Edith's gentle hints and out right suggestions to mind their children.

To everyone's annoyance and frustration; the rain returned, the wind came with it and lightning soon joined the party.

***000***

"DEAN?" Sam burst through the door. They'd returned to the house for supper and he'd finally been told by Edith about Dean's earlier fall in the hallway and disrupted afternoon. "Dean? Jesus man, you ok?"

"Mmm?" nearly asleep, he roused, alerted by the frantic repeated calling of his name that something wasn't quite right. "S'up?"

"What the hell Dean? Stop getting out of bed on your own! Don't you remember what happened last time you tried that?"

"Nooooo. I didn't." he winced, the shouting timbre of Sam's normally masculine tones sounding like nails being scratched down a chalk-board. "I did? When? Not out….or in…..alone. Head…hurts, Sammy….no…..shout."

"Why do you do this to me? Last week, the bees, cracking your damn head, this…!"

"Not my….." he paused, tongue thick, mouth dry. "Do what?" he swallowed, now nauseated. "N'm'ault."

"Not your fault?" Sam repeated. "What wasn't your fault? Dean? Hey! Dean….."

"Wh….I….fell." he forced himself to quell the overwhelming need to retch and focused on Sam's panic. Or was it anger?

"Fell? You fell? AGAIN!? Damn you…..!"

Dean squinted. Flaring nostrils, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, and fisted hands – definitely anger. "Ran me over." he panted, sheen of sweat coating his cheeks and forehead. Gawd, why did he feel like this?

"Ran…..? You were…..? SON-OF-A-BITCH!" he whirled and bolted from the room.

"SAM!" Dean bellowed – actually a hoarse cough that went unheard – Sam was descending the stairs by the time Dean threw the blankets from his shoulders and kicked them to the foot of the bed. "WAIT A DAMN MIN…SAM!" he managed to get out of bed without falling on his ass or crashing his head into the nightstand but dizziness and weak knees made his progress dashing after Sam a mite slower than he would have preferred. In fact, it forced him to become one with the wall and Sam got away.

Not that it mattered. Sam had a one-track mind and no one and nothing – not even Dean passing out and falling head over heels down the stairs – would prevent him from accomplishing his goal. Boy, did Dean ever know that from past experience. He navigated the wall, the doorway, the hallway wall, then finally the stairs, one foot, one step, second foot, next step, one hand over the next on the railing. He could see the bottom but doubted he'd ever reach it via his feet. He shrugged with a sigh, nowhere to go but down. What was a bruise or two on his ass anyway?

"Sam?" Kevin looked up from his perusal of Edith's bookcase, reading the titles by the soft glow of a lantern, aided by firelight. The family of four occupied a card table set up to host a game of rummy. Oh-oh…was he ever familiar with the look on the younger Winchesters face. The look. That look that warned anyone with an ounce of intelligence that he was on the warpath and whoever was responsible for 'the look' should flee. Run Kevin. Run, run away. Far away. Far, far, away. Run and never look back. Just go. Go now. Go while you can. Go while the getting is good. You can swim, so go.

Yeah, Kevin glanced around the room, if only he ever listened to himself. Still, despite knowledge of 'the look', Kevin never expected Sam to upend the card table, grab dad by the front lapels of his shirt, drag him to his feet and hit him so hard in the jaw, he flew – flew – backwards. Flew off his feet, over a chair and, had the wall not been made of sturdy plaster, would have flown through it as well rather than crumpling against it.

"I TOLD you to keep those KIDS away from him!"

Chaos erupted over the cracked dad-shaped silhouette in the walls plaster.

The kids, for once, were shell-shocked into silence. They were ignored by their mother who was useless against a raging mad man in the room. Well, unless of course, you counted her screaming as a weapon; her high-pitched screeching screams. Kevin winced, convinced his ears were bleeding. Her flailing hands covered her mouth, then her eyes, then clasped together, clutching her heaving bosom.

Kevin giggled, the book in his hands – a romance/mystery novel – giving way to his over-active, bored imagination. Bosom! Hee-hee. Despite its tawdriness, he was eager to start reading, it'd been a hard long day of heavy labor. Good Golly Molly, her bosom was still heaving due to her no-end-in-sight screaming. Good Lord, did she never run out of breath?

The thud of body hitting resistance – again – caused Kevin to set the book down and step around the sofa. While he had no fondness for any member of the family, he did have both a soft spot for Edith who had been nothing but kind to him since his arrival and morals, instilled in him since birth by his mother. Ignoring his inner voice telling him to leave well enough alone, he stupidly thought to interfere in Sam's attempted murder of dear old dad.

"SAM! Hey! What are you doing?" Kevin tried to grab his arm and though Sam allowed the touch, he in no way succumbed to the attempts to make him let go of dumbass flopping about like a landed fish. Or maybe a rag doll. Once, years, and years, and years ago, Kevin had fondly played with a Raggedy Andy doll….right….never admit that Kev – never. "Sam! What the hell? Come on man, leave off!"

Shake-shake-shake, Sam shouting about unruly kids and inconsiderate parents; shake, rattle and roll, the sound of teeth clacking, shake-shake-shake, Sam shouting about consequences, and then – a second punch; bone cracked and blood spurted, so much for that nose. Mom hiccupped, moaned and Kevin waited, casting a hopeful look that she'd faint but no…..she found more breath and resumed screaming. Despite her racket Kevin heard the thud of footsteps and knew Pete and/or Earl were on their way. He gulped, if they tried to prevent Sam from furthering his attack on dumbass, they'd only find themselves on the receiving end of the 'fist of fury'.

"Sam, stop." Kevin flung his weight against Sam's side, hip-checking him hard enough Sam side-stepped to keep his balance. "Stop it. Stop! STOP! Hey! Come on!" he tried to wedge himself between Sam and his target but Sam shoved him aside, knocking him over the same chair dumbass had sailed over. He was just righting himself, separating arms from legs and feet from armpits when Pete and Earl entered the room. He wanted to remain hidden behind the overturned chair but Pete was old and Earl had held a gun on Sam – something the irate hunter wasn't likely to forget – so if anyone had a chance of reaching Sam verbally, it sure as hell wasn't either of them.

"STAY BACK!" Kevin shouted frantically, fingers gripping the arm, tuft of hair visible over the stuffing, he was just peeping over the arm when Miss-on-everyone's-nerves abruptly stopped screaming. Kevin frowned, biting his lip as he turned his head to see what had finally shut her up. Aah…shock apparently. For there, standing – okay – weaving in the doorway, hand on either side of the doorframe to keep him on his feet was an unshaven, unwashed, uncombed, underwear-only wearing Dean.

"Does he not own clothes?" she was pale, hands still clasped to her chest, no attention paid to her squabbling offspring or being-beaten-to-a-pulp spouse.

Kevin gaped open-mouthed; momentarily stunned into a motionless, silent stupor. The dumb dingbat finally stopped screaming and _that's_ what she came up with to say? Seriously? Really? No fucking way.

" _That's what you say_?" Kevin exclaimed. And just beyond his realm of being able to comprehend what he was hearing, Sam still ranted. " _What the hell is wrong with you lady?"_

"I won't lay a hand on a kid, no matter how ill-mannered and poorly behaved he is. A kid is the product of his parent, so if I can't hit him, I'll hit you." Sam's words were raspy breaths. Poor guy was tired, slinging an axe all day wore down the strength of even the most fit man. Even so, Kevin was able to fill in the gaps and string together what Sam was saying.

Wow, just wow. If everyone cowered thinking Momma Bear Sammy was a fearful sight, they'd yet to encounter enraged Papa Bear Dean. Was that right? Weren't Momma's of any species ferocious when defending their young? Not that Sam was Dean's young but when he felt Dean was in anyway threatened, he went berserk. No, wait…that was backwards. Well, both were protective of the other but…

"SAM!" Dean barked, coughed, choked. "What the fuck are you doing? That's enough!" he didn't go over to Sam, didn't try to interfere, didn't attempt to physically pull his enraged brother off dumbass. He didn't need to; words were enough, were all he needed to call off the attack.

Sam held dumbass with a hand on his collarbone, his right hand fisted and ready to throw another punch. How many had it been? Three? Four? " _Now?_ You get up _now_? Go back to bed." he didn't even turn around, just issued his command with every expectation of being obeyed. "I mean it Dean….take your ass back to bed."

Dean knew one way and one way only to derail freight train Sammy. Lies and manipulation. "Can't." he sighed. "Can't….fall up the steps, you know? Can fall down 'em, I think I did….but not….not up."

"Don't fuck with me Dean. I'm not in the mood.

"And I'm not up to _this_." Dean bitched. "Sam, come on, don't make me deal with your shit."

"Don't." Sam warned, then paused. "My….. _my shit_?" he puffed up, shoulders back, chest out. "Stop being a fucking prick."

"Dammit Sam, my god-damn head hurts." he didn't bother to keep the whine from his tone. "I itch _everywhere_ and I can't breathe and my skin feels like fire and did I mention my fucking head fucking hurts?"

The screams were replaced with gasps and noises of moral outrage over the use of such language in front of impressionable young children. Uh…..what? Kevin frowned, what about her broken, bleeding husband?

Sam deflated. His shoulders sagged, then drooped. Dumbass became too heavy to hold and was dropped to the floor where he landed in a crumpled heap. "Stop whining." Sam ordered, turning to face his wobbly brother. "What are you _even_ doing out of bed anyway?"

"Aah…fainting." and he collapsed in the arms of his brother who'd sprung forward to catch him, taking them both to the floor with an undignified plop.

Kevin kicked his heels against the floor. Sure….sure….just his luck. The screaming banshee didn't faint, no… Dean did. Kevin rubbed his forehead, migraines, definitely migraines…did they cause strokes? Or blood clots? Or cerebral bleeding? He warily climbed to his feet, stepping around the chair. No one paid him any attention; Pete and Earl were attending dumbass, Edith was soothing the banshee and the kids…well, they were still sitting in their chairs, finally subdued.

Kevin expected Sam to push Dean off his lap or shake him awake, but Sam repositioned himself and sat where he was, and while he couldn't possibly be comfortable, he allowed the dead weight that was Dean to remain sprawled across his legs. Kevin snorted, yeah, that was Sam; see to Dean's comfort and needs before his own. Sam wouldn't do well on an airplane that was preparing to crash. The flight attendants instructions to secure your own oxygen mask before attempting to help those around you would never be obeyed if Sam were responsible for securing Dean's.

"Really Dean? I mean, come on!" Sam sighed. "Don't you dare pass out again." every muscle leapt to attention and urged him to gather his brother, gain his feet and carry him to bed but even when his limbs and joints joined the fight and wanted to take flight, he forced himself to remain seated.

"Ow." Dean moaned pitifully, shifting uneasily. "Naw." his hands went to his head and he rolled one way, then the other, then back. Sam moved one leg to give Dean more floor space and with his other, used his knee to prod Dean over to his left hip. Sam wanted to help him sit up, but knew Dean would rebuff any offer of aid and Sam wasn't emotionally strong enough to handle rejection. Outwardly, he remained calm and detached, privately, his heart was leaping and his pulse was dancing and his blood was singing.

"You ok?" he asked after several minutes, oblivious to the room's other occupants. "Dean?"

"Bugger off." he squirmed, slithering his complete way to the floor, willing his stomach to settle. Where the hell was he anyway? He lay upon something hard but against something soft and warm. He wasn't comfortable but….but he felt _safe_. Gaining control of his rebelling stomach, he concentrated on focusing his eyes and squinted up into the upside down face of hazel eyes brown with emotion and unkempt tangled hair.

Oh shit.


	8. Chapter 8

Kevin stood, hands on hip, waiting for a sign from Sam to tell him what to do but Sam was oblivious to the other occupants of the room, his sole attention concentrating on a staring match with his brother. Kevin stepped closer, wanting to see who would blink first.

"Here we go!" Edith breezed into the room, warm, fluffy bathrobe in her hands. "Do you think perhaps he'd like something to eat? I have vegetable stew and warm rolls for supper. Mmmm?"

"Sam?" Dean groaned, pushing up. "Ow."

Kevin toed the carpet dejectedly, he'd bet on Sam being the first to cave. Dean rocked and pitched forward, Sam grabbed and held him, and Kevin was left awe-struck that Dean allowed Sam to do so.

"Where you going?" Sam asked, not ready to relinquish the opportunity, or excuse, call it whatever, of being able to keep Dean close. "Why you gotta be such a dumb ass?"

"You're…..the ass." Dean muttered, looking around the room; upturned furniture, two shell-shocked kids swinging their feet from their chairs, one broken and bleeding man sprawled on the floor and attended by two older men, one useless, uh – female, sputtering nonsense about language and proper attire and ignoring her felled spouse, and an elderly woman trying her best to guide his arms into something furry. So, every occupant of the house, then. He paused, and he knew that, how? "Get…..us…..thrown outta here."

"Don't you worry…" someone – not Sam – was chattering but the words zoned in and out and faces zoomed and fell with alarming speed. "….stay as long as…."

"Dean? You with me?" Sam was rattling on, and on, and on and Dean covered his ears with his hands. Too many voices!

Dean frowned, wanting to shrug the arm that held him around his chest off and return to his warm, cozy bed with the soft, welcoming sheets. You know, the bed that beckoned to him with the promise of a comforting nest but dammit, Sam was a persistent little bug that just kept right on pestering him. Like a gnat buzzing in his ear; are you hungry, you haven't eaten, you're dehydrated, you haven't had any anything to drink, it's time to take meds, did his head hurt, could he see ok, did he know where he was, did he know what had happened, did he hurt himself, had he fallen on the stairs, why hadn't he stayed in bed, blah, blah, blah…..

"'Nuff." he slurred. Woozy, warm and nauseous, he used both hands to push at the arm of steel holding him upright. "Dow….nn." hum…..he tried prying the fingers lose, plucked one, then another, pinched a knuckle….nope, none moved…not even the pinky. Okay…new plan of attack, couple things he could try….first plan of action was attempted and met with failure; couldn't lower head to hand, couldn't raise hand to mouth, so gnawing his way free wasn't an option. Slumping failed, squirming failed, wiggling failed, twisting failed. Grunting accomplished answering murmurs that he supposed were meant to be soothing. Head thumps got him nowhere; he remained securely held – oh, the embarrassment – by one arm.

"What?" Sam ducked his head, lowering his ear so he could hear what Dean was saying. "You wanna lie down? Ok…..sure, but not here."

Dean frowned, distracted from his attempts to gain his freedom by what he held in his hands. _What was that?_ It was….grey, no blue…..no….grey, definitely grey and….what the fuck was he holding? What was _it?_ He blinked, trying to see more clearly but his vision refused to cooperate so he brought his hands closer to his face. Correction, he tried. He tugged, and tugged, and tugged but his hands didn't move. His fingers bunched, he tightened his fists…..holy shit, was that a fucking tail?

"Stop." Sam rescued his hands from the grey fur….furry…fur with a tail before his panic became full-blown. "What are you doing? Dean….hey…oh." he sighed when Dean went limp, falling forward against his arm-hold. "Right…you always do this when you don't want to face me." he managed his brother's weight when he toppled over, head flopping and bopping until Sam used his free hand to grab his brother's chin and guide his head to rest against Sam's shoulder. "Kevin…lend a hand."

"Put him on the sofa." Edith ordered briskly. "Dinner is ready, you need to eat while it's hot. He'll be fine."

Kevin, who had given up on receiving direction from Sam, was righting furniture and picking up strewn cards and bowls from the upended card-table but upon hearing Edith, he re-arranged the pillows on the sofa, then went over to help Sam. He waited until Sam nodded his agreement, then grabbed Dean's feet and helped Sam drop him on the sofa.

"Come." Edith clapped her hands. "Perhaps after you've eaten, you can see if you can get him to eat something." she herded both Sam and Kevin from the room to the dining room. "And no gulping down your dinner. Sit and enjoy, he gets up, you'll hear him."

Yeah, Kevin thought, hear him hit the floor when the dumb ass gets off the sofa without help. But Sam didn't appear to have any doubts about leaving Dean passed out alone, on the sofa, in a strange house with strangers, by himself so Kevin said nothing and took his seat at the table.

Mom and the two boys joined them, as did Pete and Earl but dear old dad failed to make an appearance. Kevin was fine with that. He didn't need any reason for Sam to go off again. He kept an eye on the kids, but they sat quietly, heads bowed and ate their food without a word. Good, hopefully seeing the shit kicked out of their dad had a lasting, sobering effect on the little….erhm, young kids. As far as Kevin was concerned, it'd been a light ass-kicking, 'cause despite his anger, Sam had shown restraint. What annoyed Kevin most was mom; under the current circumstances, she sat and allowed herself and her kids to be served without an offer to help or even a smile of thanks?

"So, progress with the tree?" Edith asked. "Done for the evening, aren't you?"

"Got it cut through in two places." Pete replied. "Come daylight, we'll attach chains and try to drag the center piece off the road and the smaller part of the trunk to the side with the truck. Should be enough to get their car through."

"And the bridge?" she asked. "The storm has let up, thank goodness."

"Might be able to cross it, the rain holds off tonight. They have a heavy car, long as the tops of the bridge railings are visible, they should make it."

"Now see, there, you have a plan." she told Sam. "All's well."

"Soup." Dean weaved and wobbled in the door way, nose twitching, one coherent thought in his head, food.

Sam sighed, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. "Yeah, sure. Okay…..come on."

Dean allowed Sam to lead him from the door over to the table, grateful for the steadying hand, even if he would deny it.

"Why are we here?" he was escorted to the table and guided into a chair, where, once seated, he cast a suspicious glance at the fireplace. "No lights?" he was silent for a moment but no one answered him. "No water….does that mean no power? Wait, wait…..wait…just wait…where the hell are we?"

"Aah….B&B….look, don't start. I've heard it all from Sam. I did the best I could. Suck it up and deal with it."

Dean blinked, blinked again, squinted, rubbed both eyes, blinked and blinked some more. Then he shook his head, for his hearing had been altered along with his eye sight; yup, short Asian kid prone to hysteria and panic. Where the hell had Sam gone? Dean blinked one last time, this time at Kevin's tone then let it go. He was too tired.

"You gotta remember some of it, don't you?" Kevin was saying. "'Cause, dude, we've been here for two days now."

"Sam?" where the hell was Sam? Christ, he'd just been there, like mere seconds ago. He'd had been, he was sure of it, he'd seen Sam. "I…..yeah…..but…..the order….I dunno."

"Well, yeah." Kevin agreed. "You've been out of it for a couple of days…." he studied him; the hooded, swollen, red eyes, the dark circles and furrowed forehead and thin lips, features tight and drawn with fatigue and pain. "You still aren't looking so good, dude."

"Meh." he reached for the bandage on his forehead but a hand slapped his down to the table before he could do more than touch it with his fingertips. "Hey!" he growled, slapping back. "The fuck….? Knock it off!"

"Leave it alone." Sam admonished, placing a bowl and a plate in front of him then taking his seat. "It's fine, by the way. I took care of it." he waited but no response was forthcoming. "You're welcome." he said dryly.

"What's this?" Dean stared. What the hell was the matter with Sam, serving him this? There wasn't much in the way of food he didn't like, but he didn't particularly care for sushi. Sushi was raw, dead fish, right? It wasn't supposed to be alive and swimming in brown gravy, was it? He leaned closer and peered into his bowl, nose to the rim. _What the fuck was moving in his bowl?_

"Dinner." Sam said. "You wanted soup, you got soup. Eat."

Sushi came as soup these days? "But I don't like…." right, too tired to care. "What is he…..you….we, doing…here?"

"Storm."

"How did we get here? You….you weren't with us…..weren't you off buying bibles?"

"Not a bible, and it was an auction." Sam huffed, watching Dean attempt to put butter on a knife. "Dude….here, let me…Dean, come on!"

"I can do it." Dean growled, pushing Sam away. "Lemme 'lone."

"Put the butter on the knife, not your thumb…Dean, hey…..no….butter your roll…the bread….that's your hand. Dude, really, just let me help you."

"Don't need no help."

"You can't eat that." Sam said impatiently, lips tugging into a smirk.

"Why not?"

"Because it's your napkin." Sam laughed. "Eat your soup."

"It's….not…..it's…no."

"It's what?"

"Moving." Dean nudged the bowl. "Didn't you kill it first?"

"Dude, it's stew." Sam chuckled. "Just eat it."

"You must be feverish." Kevin said, giving him an odd look. "You feel hot Dean? Maybe your temperature's up."

Dean scowled, giving up on the roll, and searched for a spoon or fork, fork would do. "Why is Kevin still here?" stew he could eat; meat and potatoes and carrots and onions in a thick gravy.

"Are you lucid?" Sam asked, buttering the roll and removing the salt shaker before Dean could grab it. "You don't need salt."

"Take him back to the bunker, he can't stay here." he tried again for the salt but it was out of reach. "Why haven't you taken him home?" he scowled. "Gimme my roll."

"Kinda stuck here." Sam put the spoon in Dean's hand. "Tree is blocking the road, bridge is under water, I went down to see it, walking is treacherous, can't drive over it, doubt you feel like swimming."

"Swim….who? Me?" he chased a...something, if he had a fork he could just stab the bitch. Didn't the stupid little things ever stop moving? "I don't want to go swimming, I wanna go to bed." no, it was stew, he reminded his wandering self. Stew? Well, hell if it was stew…...

"HEY!" Sam rescued the bowl when Dean held it in both hands and lowered his head to meet his hands as he raised the bowl to his mouth. "What are you….? You can't do that! Stop it!" he squawked. "God Dean, what's the matter with you?" Sam shot Edith an apologetic smile. "He does have table manners, honest."

"Get your own bowl." Dean muttered, relinquishing his hold reluctantly. "Spoon doesn't work." he complained. "Need a bigger spoon. Gimme one."

"You aren't going to slurp out of the bowl!" Sam scolded. "Bigger spoon will help….yeah sure. Has nothing to do with your lack of coordination or blurry vision or drug-addled mind."

"Look….I don't know what's going on…..and I don't care…you're here, so take care of it. Take Kevin home."

"I told you, tree is blocking the road and the bridge is under water." he gave Dean a fork. "Better?"

"Climb over the tree and swim across the river." Dean said simply, spearing a potato and a carrot. Ha! He triumphantly held up his prize and smirked. "Gotcha!" he frowned, eyes narrowing. "What'd I catch?"

"You can't leave." Sam argued. "I can't - won't - take you across that river until we can make it in the car. I mean, let you swim.? No, just no."

"You're leaving me the car, right? Or once you get Kevin home, you can come back for me. You got here somehow." Dean waggled his fork. "Seriously, what is this?"

"Leave you here, alone, unprotected?" Sam reached out and stilled his brother's hand. "Stop that, you're flinging gravy everywhere. It's a potato and a carrot, Dean. Now stop."

"Veggies?" he made a face then popped the fork into his mouth. "The weather will let up…..I can meet..."

"You aren't going anywhere by yourself."

"Big boy here Sammy...

"Don't. Don't do that to me." Sam warned, all traces of humor and teasing gone, replaced with evil eyes, furrowed brow, one eyebrow and thin lips baring teeth. "If you think for one second, I'm going anywhere, for any reason and leaving you here alone, without me, brace yourself, 'cause I'm gonna hit you so hard your brain bounces off your skull enough times you start thinking right."

"You mean, your way." Dean said with a wave of his fork. "You want me to think your way." he reached for his glass. He didn't notice the lack of foam, all he saw was the amber-colored liquid. He took a mouthful, blissful look of expectation exploding into one of disbelief as he choked, spitting and sputtering until Kevin smacked him on his back and Sam reached for his mouth with a napkin. "GAH! What the fuck…?" he gasped, eyes watering. "….the fuck is this? Ice tea? Really? Ice tea? Dude, you're joking. No, no way…..gimme a beer. I want a beer."

"Yeah, not gonna happen." Sam said in exasperation, removing the glass from within Dean's reach to eliminate the danger of spilt ice tea. "One, you're on medication; two, there are kids at the table; three, this is not a restaurant."

Dean glared at the two boys as though they were the sole reason he was being denied what he wanted, then turned his woeful-woe-is-me, doe-eyes on his brother whose look remained grim and determined as he shook his head and offered the glass ice tea.

"This or water." Sam said firmly, quirking an eyebrow in response to Dean's curled lip. "Milk?" he smirked when Dean sneered. "Sugar?" he stirred a generous heaping spoonful into the ice tea. "Better?"

"It'll do." Dean grunted and turned his attention to sopping up stew with his roll. "Not what I want though." he muttered.

"Yeah." he watched Dean, who, though uncoordinated and shaky, managed to eat most of the stew and all the rolls on his plate. "More rolls? No? Then here, take your meds. You're looking better, not so swollen and blotchy so meds must be working. How you feeling?"

"Don't itch so much anymore." Dean licked butter from his bottom lip. "Sleepy though. I, aah, see things a little off." like little fish-thingies swimming in his bowl of stew. "Head still aches." he pointed to his bandaged forehead as to the reason why his head still hurt. His look said he believed it was all Sam's fault. Sam flipped him off. "You're not gonna try and kill no one no more, are you?"

Sam snorted. "Barely hurt him."

"Broke his nose."

"He doesn't need it to breathe."

"Needs a jaw to eat."

"Didn't break that." Sam scoffed.

Edith tut-tutted because mom was starting to hyperventilate. Kevin frowned, if she were so upset and concerned and outraged, she shouldn't have an appetite, should have excused herself from dinner and tended her husband. Where was the milksop anyway?

"Yeah, right…..see, okay, come on." Sam said when it became obvious Dean was only playing with his food and no longer eating. "Let's get you back to bed."

Dean carefully set down his glass of ice tea, gave it a look of utter distaste then got up from the table. Before Sam could stand with him, Dean moved around the table and with surprising agility and stability, grabbed the closer of the two boys by his shoulders and picked him up, lifting him from the chair and holding him straight out in front of him.

 _"What are you doing?"_ Mom shrieked, lurching to her feet. "Put him down this instant!"

And here we go again! Kevin hung his head. He wasn't going to live to see his next birthday. He was going to have a stroke or rupture an ulcer or have a heart attack or commit suicide by intervention. Any way he looked at it, the brothers were going to be the death of him.

"Uh…say Sam?" Kevin slowly stood up.

Mom freaked out, the brother started hollering and beating at Dean's legs with his fists, Earl and Pete were trying to remove the kid from Dean's hands, Edith was telling everyone everything would be alright, Kevin was ordering Sam to do something, and Sam sat and drank his coffee.

There was nothing to do, nothing to stop, no reason to intervene, Dean would never willingly hurt a kid, _ever._

Dean ignored everyone and continued to manhandle the kid; he turned and twisted him, he tipped him sideways – first one way, then the other, he rotated him, dipped him backwards, turned him upside down, held him by his ankles and shook him until the kid squeaked. The boy kicked and tried to punch and struggled to free himself but Dean was undeterred. He finally righted the boy, gave him a final shake and set him on his feet.

"You ain't sick or hurt, no bones are broken, don't have any kind of handicap…..there's nothing wrong with you. What about you?" he asked the other boy. "You look hale and hearty, you got anything wrong with you?"

"You have some nerve!" Mom gasped in outrage, both boys hugged to her. "I will have the law upon you….."

"Yeah, yeah…why does everyone think threatening me with the law scares me?" Dean blew her off. "Bottom line, we're all stranded here. You are no longer just a paying guest and no one is going to fetch your water and wood any more. Those kids can carry wood and your pansy-ass boy-toy has a bruise or two. His nose is broken, not his arms, he can carry pails of water up the stairs for your family's use."

She gaped at him, mouth open, at a loss for words.

"Edith here is like a hundred-years-old and you have her running up and down two flights of steps bringing you candles and batteries and towels." Dean continued. "And I'm telling you, it's going to stop."

"You can't….can't….give us orders." the younger boy spoke up. "We don't have to listen to you. You ain't no one."

"Yeah, what are you going to do?" the older boy asked boldly. "You haven't done anything around here to help."

"They have." Dean pointed to Sam and Kevin. "And don't make the mistake of thinking I'm Sam."

"Yeah, so they can leave." the younger sneered.

"See?" Dean turned to Sam. "You see? No respect. Snot-nosed little brat….."

"Okay, ok…..you've made your point." Sam said hastily. "Let's get you back to bed."

"There're a lot of dishes to wash by hand so grab a towel." Dean told mom as Sam steered him from the room. "I don't like that kid Sam…..you hear him? You or I talked back to an adult at that age and Dad wudda…."

Once the voices were of out hearing distance, Kevin sat down. "So, what's for dessert?"

Dean needed no encouraging to climb the stairs and go to bed, secure in the knowledge Sam would see things his way.

"We'll try and leave tomorrow afternoon." Sam said. "We should have the road clear in the morning."

"Sure." he laid down and snuggled into the pillows, blankets pulled up to his ears. "Home sounds good. We have toilets that flush."

"Yeah, sure." Sam let his head lay against the wall as he watched his brother settle. Flushing toilets! Sure Dean, ignore the obvious fact that they were all safer at the bunker while Dean was, erhm, recuperating. The bunker where Kevin should be, where he never should have left. Kevin leaving was Sam's fault but now was not the time to enumerate why. "Dean? You good?"

He waited to be sure Dean slept then closed the door behind him and went back downstairs.

***000***

"You think they'll do anything to help out?" Kevin tagged along after Sam as they trudged across the lawn to the car. He had no idea what Sam wanted to retrieve from it but had eagerly grabbed the excuse to escape from the tense dinner table. "I mean, how did Dean even know? About any of it? Or Edith's name? Or what's been going on? He's been doped-up or drugged-out or knocked stupid since we got here."

"'Cause he's Dean, it's what he does." Sam said absently.

"Yeah, but how? Don't you think it's weird? I mean, he didn't know what stew was but knew….."

"What's that?" Sam put a palm up to halt Kevin's tirade. "Do you hear that?"

"What? No!" Kevin scowled. "Don't hear anything, no wind, no rain, no thunder. And don't try and change the subject…." he paused. "Wait…you mean that? That wailing? A train, maybe?"

It wasn't wailing or a train, it was a siren and a siren in Nebraska, this time of year with the recent weather they'd experienced the last couple of days, meant only one thing.

"Fuck!" Sam slammed the trunk closed and bolted. Its contents forgotten as he raced towards the house, Kevin on his heels.

"What? What is it? Sam? What? Is that a siren? A SIREN? No Way!" Kevin shouted, running hard to keep up with Sam. "No Way!"

Sam burst through the back door to a room bustling with activity. Voices were heard, doors slammed, Edith was calling for 'everyone' and in the distance, Kevin heard the freight train thundering closer. Earl was scurrying across the kitchen, arms full of lanterns and flashlights, Edith was herding the most annoying family – dad included – it had ever been Kevin's misfortune to meet towards a door that led to the cellar.

"Quickly!" Edith encouraged, smacking one lagging child across the ass. "No time to dwaddle….down you go….young Kevin…come…everyone….you too Sam."

"That's not a train is it?" Kevin questioned anxiously, hopping about. "And that's a tornado siren, isn't it? Right? RIGHT?"

"It's not and it is." Earl said grimly. "Downstairs. Now."

Sam whirled, grabbed the nearest kid by the arm, swung him off his feet and heaved him through the open cellar door. Kevin went next. "KEVIN! KEEP YOUR ASS IN THAT CELLAR!"

"But…Waaa…Ack!" his foot was the last anyone seen of him.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, starting after the second boy who, seeing him coming, darted through door before Sam could grab him. "Edith, where's Dean?" he removed himself from Earl's attempt to grab his arm. "WHERE IS HE?"

"Peter went to get him." Edith said.

"He's still upstairs!?" he was frantic, the vibrating walls and shaking house feeding his panic. "Get in the cellar." he ordered Edith and Earl and took off with the biggest step he could manage in muddy boots on a shiny linoleum floor, ignoring the calls behind him. God no, not this, not now, not after an unfair bar fight with a possessed brawler, not after un-countable bee stings and allergic reactions and two head injuries in less than a week. Not after surviving Kevin's inadequate care and Sam's initial absence; not after driving all night in horrible weather, depriving himself of a bed, sitting vigil by Dean's beside and catching a couple hours of disrupted sleep on the floor. No, oh-hell-no, Sam was not going to lose his brother to Mother Nature after all of that!

***000***

Dean woke with a jerk – well, at least he thought he was awake or at least no longer dreaming or hallucinating. It was hard to be sure, he felt like shit and did his best to ignore reality. But…..well, now….no, he was awake and the walls were vibrating. Really, for real this time. Knick-knacks danced and hopped and a couple committed suicide, jumping from their perch, missing the plush carpet and crashing to the wood floor and smashing into smithereens.

Smithereens, weird word….where did it come from? Whoever thought it up and how did they decide what it meant? What was weird was the word weird. Hadn't he been taught in some grade at some school the way to remember how to spell words with an I and an E? 'I' before 'E' expect after 'C' with science being an exception to the rule. And hadn't that same teacher instructed her students to remember how to spell science by remembering a little chant? Since Christmas I Eat No Candy Ever. How was that for proper grammar taught by an English teacher? HA!

Maybe the rule didn't apply if the word didn't contain a 'C'?  No, no….there was another rule – there were a lot of rules…..what was it? What was…oh right, 'I' before 'E' except in words with an 'A' sound, like neighbor and weigh. But weird didn't have the 'A' sound. Damn, all this grade school remembering was making his head hurt and why the hell was he giving himself a grammar lesson now anyway?

More rattling, another crash…followed by shake, shake, shake….shake rattle and roll. Those words were lyrics to a song….no wait….they were the title of a song. Yeah….that's it…..oh dear god, the room really need to stop shaking. Shake, shake, shake…..shake your groove thing. Okay, that was it, no disco allowed, time to wake up. A crash and the bed bucking beneath him was enough to startle him out of his reverie.

Okay….time to get up and see what the hell was going on. He'd just sat up, hand to his head when the room around him exploded and despite his confusion and complete lack of comprehension, a litany of songs went through his mind in a matter of a split second as his body experienced the events and the motions: Carol King, The Earth moved under his feet; Tom Petty, Free Falling; Limp Bizkit, Rollin', Rollin', Rollin'; Kansas, Dust in the wind, because wherever the hell he was, his nose was full of dust and it was making him sneeze and it was breezy on his bare legs.

Huh.

Sam passed Peter, flinging an order at him to get in the cellar with the others. He ran down the hallway, skidded around the desk in the foyer and hit the steps, praying he'd get there in time. His long legs and his panic gave him the easy lope to take the steps three at a time and he barreled into Dean's room, throwing the door open and crossing the room as his hands reached for his brother. With one fluid yank – and with strength born of utter panic – he pulled him off the bed, into his arms and, holding tight, took him to the floor and rolled them both under the bed.

The bed shuddered as either a picture frame or a shelf fell from the wall but the canopy was close to the ceiling and their first line of dense. Should it crack or split and fall, the mattresses were enough protection to shield them from injury. Since there was no way he'd get Dean down the stairs and into the cellar in time, and though the tub would offer the next best source of protection, he couldn't chance the dash to the bathroom, hiding under the bed would have to suffice should the house come down around them.

Dean squirmed. Something warm and solid was pressed against his back and snaked around his side and up under his armpit. He felt a moment's panic before relaxing. The hold was comforting, not confining and held him, didn't pin him. He could move if he wanted to, yet couldn't move away from whatever was keeping him on the floor and under the bed…..uh…he was where? Well, the bed was certainly high enough to allow him to sprawl comfortably beneath it without hitting his head. Now, if only the shaking and trembling would stop and if the crashing and smashing would cease and the train finished passing, he could go back to sleep, 'cause man, all that thundering racket was making his head hurt.

He raised his head and blinked…aah….his fingers….no wait, not his….his hands were…..were where? Oh, okay….one was by his hip, his thumb against his bare skin because his t-shirt was rucked up to his chest, exposing his belly and the other was…oh right, under his cheek, so…whose fingers were those? Oh. Dear. God. He. Wasn't. Under. The. Bed. Alone.

And the struggle to gain his freedom began in earnest.

"Stop it!" Sam panted. Limited by the confines of being beneath a bed with a fighting fit of 165 lbs of fury in his arms, his attempts to keep Dean still and under the dubious safety of the bed weren't easy. "DEAN! Don't! Stop fighting me! Dammit!"

With a final foundation rattling shudder, both the house and Dean stilled. Sam fought to control his breathing, content to hold Dean close until he was sure the danger had passed.

"Dean? You with me?"

His head wasn't restrained and Dean turned 'the other cheek' to peer at what was behind him; his brother. He let his head drop with a thud, ow. "Head hurts."

"Now's not the time." Sam muttered. "Now, is so not the time. You okay?" he released the wrestling hold he'd used to subdue his whacked-out brother and untangled his legs from Dean's. "Dean?" the bed was still above them and other than broken bric-a-brac, the floor remained intact. So, the walls and roof had held firm and there was no cold breeze or cold rain, so the windows remained intact as well.

"For a headache?" Dean was confused. "Can't…really time headaches Sam."

"What?" Sam slid out from under the bed, mindful of the broken glass, then reached under and pulled Dean out. "Oh, you're head, yeah you whacked it when you fell getting out of bed, remember?" he paused. "Yesterday."

"No."

"Here." Sam gained his feet and kicked the stool over to the bed. "Get back in bed and no matter what you hear, stay there. Can you do that?" the canopy remained over the bed and a lamp and a picture framed had bounced onto the mattress but neither had broken. "Dean?"

Dean shrugged. He was cold and tired and his head hurt and his body ached and his skin alternated between hot pin-pricks and cold chills that produced goose-bumps. Why wouldn't he want to remain in bed? Geesch, Sam sure had some issues.

"I don't feel good."

"Just stay put." Sam sighed. He really needed to research those meds the hospital had sent home with Dean. "There's broken glass all over the floor and you're bare foot."

"My head hurts." Dean repeated as he crawled into bed, one knee at a time and laid down, pulling the blankets up to his shoulder as he gave his brother his back, oblivious of the fact he'd just survived a tornado.

Sam wanted to linger, to make sure Dean was awake and coherent and not suffering any ill effects of the night-stand greeting his head or addled from the meds he'd taken an hour or so ago, but chaos had erupted downstairs. By the sounds of shouting and running footsteps and slamming doors, the occupants of the basement had emerged and some part of the house had suffered damage. Sam thought the worst that might have happened was the loss of the roof, and though there was a third floor above him, he sensed the roof, perhaps minus some shingles, remained.

"Shit." Sam quickly kicked the broken glass to the wall, leaving a clear path to the doorway, and with one last glance at the bed, bolted for the steps. Kevin was arguing and by the time Sam descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, he had to separate the young prophet from an irate mother.

"Endangered you?" Kevin was shouting. "How the hell did he _endanger_ you? He wasn't anywhere near you!" he had an overwhelming urge to stick his thumbs in his ears, stick his tongue out, cross his eyes and waggle his fingers. "You can't seriously blame him for a tornado!"

"Kevin?" Sam stepped forward. "Are you…you're arguing with a 7-year-old?" he looked around the room, everyone was accounted for. "Are you winning?"

"Oh no you don't!" Kevin's hands went to his hips. "You 'broke' him when you threw him down the stairs." complete with air-finger quotes when he said 'broke'.

"I threw him?" Sam pushed at his hair. It was raining again, pinging against the windows. "Any damage? What do you mean, I threw him down the stairs? I tossed his ass through the door, not the down the stairs. Christ."

"Couple windows blew out, porch took a hit. Nothing we can't board up." Pete said calmly. "Haven't made it outside yet."

Great. Another night of little sleep. They were so leaving this place come morning, well, come tomorrow anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9: Chapter 9
> 
> Oh, right...yeah, I know this takes place during the time Sam should be be - uh - possessed, erhm, inhabited by an angel, but I chose to ignore that.

"You're mean!"

Sam blinked, slowly turning to glare at the boy hiding behind his mother and peeking around her hip to stick his tongue out at Kevin, who went ballistic.

"Why, you little brat…" Kevin lunged forward, socked feet slipping on the floor – Edith had made him leave his muddy boots in the cellar – but both dad and Sam blocked any advancement. "I'm gonna…."

"Kev…you're gonna let it go." Sam said wearily. "Please? Enough, just…enough," he pushed Kevin back with one hand. "I've had enough."

"You weren't in that cellar." Kevin mumbled. He retreated but if looks indeed killed, Edith's floor would be littered with dead bodies. "I don't like them Sam, none of them. I….."

"What do you expect?" Sam waved a hand towards the parents. "You've had the pleasure of spending time with….aah…. _them_!"

"Separate corners, young men." Edith clapped her hands. "Mrs. Pequinot, I believe it's time you took your children upstairs to their room."

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Pequinot drew up in indignation. "You're asking us to leave?"

"The boys are surely shaken from experiencing a tornado." Edith's voice sharpened. "They need time to settle down."

"Yes, indeed they are upset. What with violent men exhibiting improper behavior and using foul language." she sniffed haughtily. "They require hot cocoa and toast…."

"They require parental guidance." Edith snapped. "And I'm not asking you, I'm telling you; take those children upstairs to your room." she pointed to the doorway that led to the front of the house and the foyer with the staircase. "Now!"

"Yeah." Kevin ha-ha'd. "What she said!"

"KEVIN!" Sam shook his head. "Really? What are you, seven?" engaged in a silent stare down with Mr. Pequinot, he didn't pay Kevin much attention. "You coming out to help?" he waited but dad mutely stared him down. "Yeah, it's what I thought."

"I wanna go!"

"Yeah, me too!"

The boys continued to clamor for permission to accompany the men outside and neither parent saw fit to stop them. It was Edith who finally put her foot down and with steely resolve, again ordered their mother to remove them from her kitchen.

"Dean ok?" Kevin asked finally. Mom had at last – and without the suggested hot cocoa and toast, really, he couldn't believe she'd had the nerve to ask for it, what with all Edith had to do – taken the boys upstairs and he was able to let his anger go. "Sam, hey!" he snapped his fingers to gain Sam's attention. "HEY! Dean ok?" the smack of palms slapping together finally pulled Sam's attention to him. "IS DEAN OK?" Kevin yelled, frustrated. "I'm guessing he is or you wouldn't be down here."

"What? Huh….Dean? Oh. Yeah, he's fine." Sam took a seat at the table. How many days had it been since he'd gotten a decent night's sleep in the comfort of a bed? It was only going on 8 o'clock yet exhaustion made his muscles heavy and his head throb. All he wanted was a hot bath and bed but Pete and Earl had donned rain slickers and boots and were gathering flashlights. Right, chickens and a horse and a couple cows; damage needed to be accessed, the river checked, debris and destruction calculated and assigned order of importance and any immediate needed repairs completed.

"Keep an eye on him?" Sam asked Edith, standing and accepting his previously loaned rain slicker from Pete. "He should sleep, but he never does what you expect him to."

"Wait for me!" Kevin sighed, already bemoaning the loss of his clothes. Oh well, he could always borrow some clothes from Earl or Pete if his got wet and muddy – again. "Where'd I leave my boots?"

"His meds flip him out, so…." Sam shrugged into the slicker and pulled the hood over his head before accepting a large flashlight. "If you need me…." he pulled a gun from the back of his jeans and set it on the table. "Shoot this off from the yard." he raised a finger to ward off any comment from the flapping mouth of dad. "It's just a flare gun." he paused, then with a sigh, accepted his immediate fate. "I'm ready, let's go."

Dad remained behind because Sam was simply too tired and weary to deal with him. Besides, he wouldn't have to, he smirked. Dean wouldn't sleep long. Once reality of what just happened smacked dear-ole-sleepy-head upside his head, there'd be no escaping the elder Winchester on the war path.

***000***

Dean awoke slowly and reluctantly, once again confused and clueless. He was really beginning to hate waking up. He tried to fight it, tried to sink back into the depths of comfort but nope, wasn't gonna happen. He didn't move, didn't alter his breathing, didn't blink. He remained silent and still and let his senses return. When he felt he could rely on them, he opened one eye. The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp and the fireplace, but oh yeah, he remembered this place. All was quiet, the only sound the cackling fire. He waited, but nothing and no one moved; he was alone.

"Aw…..fuck." he flopped over to his back and kicked the blankets to the bottom of the bed. The fire burned merrily but it alone didn't account for how hot and sticky he was. A shower. Yeah, that's what he needed. A nice, long, hot shower.

Yawning, he sat up, stretched, held his head until the slight dizziness assaulting him receded then climbed out of bed. He remembered the unusual height of the bed, he remembered the bathroom was down the hallway, he remembered the power was out; it wasn't until he was facing the toilet, pail of water at his feet that he recalled _everything_.

"Shit." he stared longingly at the useless shower then cast a look of disgust down at the pail of water. Well, hot water was somewhere, right? Sam was around, so was Kevin…..they would get him some hot water. He paused, one hand against the wall for support while he waited for his head to clear. Eh? Sam was there? He'd had come to….to what? Be with Dean? Take Dean home? Despite attitudes and aloofness, having his brother around was a comfort he would never admit to. Okay, so what to do, what to do? Oh, right, find Sam and make him wait on his big brother, cater to his every need and find him some hot water – maybe enough to fill the tub. Yeah, sure, that was it; the more he thought about, the better it sounded. Can't take a shower, take a bath.

Armed with a plan, he returned to his room, donned the bathrobe he didn't recall discarding, grabbed the flashlight from the nightstand and made his way to the stairs. Wow, what a mess. What a crappy housekeeper. Huh – why hadn't he noticed any of the crap strewn in his way on his trip to the bathroom? He began to step carefully, mindful of his bare feet, picking his way through floors littered with broken glass, fallen picture frames, broken shelves, books and magazines, knick-knacks, spilled oil from lamps, dripped wax from candles, lamps and dishes and vases and figurines, some whole, others smashed or broken and that was just the hallway. Wow, this was more than lackadaisical housekeeping. What the fuck…he stopped, toe stubbed and throbbing, head whirling….. _tornado_!

"SAM!" he bolted for the stairs, ignoring the crunching beneath his feet. The house was quiet and he encountered no one until he skidded into the kitchen. "SAM! KEVIN!"

"Hello." Edith greeted, wielding a broom as she swept broken glass and spilled beans and rice and pasta into a dust plan. She straightened up, hand to the small of her back. "You didn't sleep long. Can I get you something?" she'd been picking up and putting or throwing away for a while but the floor remained littered with spilt sugar and flour and coffee, the containers which had contained the contents cleared away.

"Where is everyone?" Dean demanded, hot water and desire to take a bath forgotten. "Everyone ok?"

"Everyone is fine." Edith assured him. "They went outside to survey the damage, round-up the chickens and board up the broken windows."

"So, it was a tornado?" he shook his head. "Damage? I mean, the house looks more like an earthquake…."

"Yes." she frowned. "Oh no. Don't you even think about it. You are not going outside. Absolutely not." she said firmly. "You take yourself right back to bed. You need your rest to get back on your feet." she paused. "You look a bit peaked. Does your head still pain you?"

"Huh? What?" he was busy surveying the damage and destruction of the kitchen, recalled what he'd seen on his way downstairs and wondered why no one was helping her. "The fuck…my head? It's fine. Is that dick outside helping the others?"

"Language dear." she scolded mildly. She ignored the question and walked over to the trashcan to empty the dust pan.

"So, he's not?" Dean scowled. "Seriously?" he placed one hand on top of the table to support his weight while he lifted a foot to look for damage. "Why aren't they helping you?" he asked, repeating the motion with the opposite foot. "Is anyone?"

"The boys are…." she paused. "They were upset and Mr. Pequinot is not feeling very well. Mrs. Pequinot….."

"Bullshit." Dean snorted. "I thought I made myself clear." he turned and retraced his steps, ascending to the third floor in less time than it'd taken him to descend from the second. He banged on the door across the hall from the one directly above his. "OPEN UP!" he pounded with his fist. "You either COME OUT or I'll come in and DRAG your ASS out!"

Despite her advanced age, her arthritic knees, aching joints and weary bones from bending and scooping and lifting and reaching, Edith was on Dean's heels as he charged up the stairs. Was at his back when he kicked the door opened after finding it locked when he turned the knob; was there to see the murderous look cross his face when the only occupant of the room haughtily informed them, Mr. Pequinot had taken the boys outside so they could see the after effects of a tornado; was there to prevent Dean from tying Mrs. Pequinot up with dresser scarfs, gagging her with roped curtain tiebacks and stuffing her in a closet; was left to mutter, 'oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,' when Dean returned to his room, got dressed, barreled his way to the kitchen, demanded a larger flashlight, and ordered her to tell him the direction Sam and Kevin had gone. She didn't think to refuse. Armed with a shot-gun, a machete, a knife, and a hand-gun tucked into the waist of his jeans, he slammed out the back door.

***000***

Pete hefted his hammer and began to pound a nail through the wood. He eyed the younger man holding the panel of plywood over a busted window on the porch, flashlight balanced between his teeth, wondering what strength and stamina the man was functioning on. Far as he knew the young fellow had spent the few hours of sleep he'd gotten the previous night on the floor; had spent the day of his arrival and all this day carrying wood and pails of water, clearing debris and chopping and cutting up a tree and tending his brother and beating up smaller, defenseless men.

Pete paused, nearly smashing his thumb. No, that wasn't fair. Mr. Pequinot had been disrespectful by failing to oversee his children's activities and failing to extend consideration to the other occupants of the house. Especially since one of those in residence was ill and – courtesy of the furniture – now hurt. And…he cast another eye as Sam hefted yet another board, he was quite sure – no, definitely sure – that the size of the man responsible for the suffering of this one's brother wouldn't matter. A beat down would be administered and Sam was capable of administering it to anyone, if anyone, in any way, endangered Dean.

Huh.

Shaking his head to clear it of its current path of thought, he cast his eyes heavenward. In all his years and he'd seen seven decades, he'd never seen weather like this. Even now, after a tornado, the wind was strong, the sky roiling with dark clouds, prominently displayed by frequent flashes of forked lightning. The rain had so far held off, but it was going to come – again. He had his doubts the trio of men would make it across that bridge this night.

Kevin was off with Earl and Sam and Pete finished boarding up the last broken window that could be reached from the ground. A walk around the house, beaming a flashlight upwards to survey the upstairs windows didn't show any blown out or broken but that could and would be verified from inside. Pete confirmed there was a walk-in attic so they could also check the roofs integrity from inside as well. Sam sent out a silent prayer, thankful that he wouldn't have to climb a ladder and hammer boards over a second or third story window. He was too tired to keep his balance in the buffeting wind.

"We good?" Earl came up with Kevin, both wet and muddy and…..Sam reached out to pluck a feather from Kevin's hair.

"So, rounded up the chickens then?" Sam teased. "Barn good?"

"Yeah, believe it or not, minimal damage." Earl said. "Lost a door and some shingles…..easily repaired. Animals are ok and accounted for. You?"

"From down here, all upper windows look good. We'll double-check from the inside." Pete replied. "Go up into the attic and check the roof."

"First, I want to go down to the river." Sam said. "Make sure the road's still clear. See how high the water is."

"Sure, sure." Pete nodded. He wasn't about to question or deny the younger man's motives or desires. Not with all the help he'd given them over the last two days. "Let me drive you down in the truck."

"Thanks, but I can take our car. You go see to the house and…"

"The truck." Pete said firmly, moving towards it. "That way, we see anything in the road, we'll have chains to drag it outta the way or if we see any of Ma's garden gnomes or porch chairs or some other bric-a-brac of hers, we can toss it into the bed. Won't be but thirty minutes. Earl and young Kevin here can check the upstairs windows while we're gone."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, ok…sure, thanks." he followed Pete, let himself in from the passenger side and cranked down the window. "Kev….."

"Yeah, yeah….check on Dean." Kevin muttered, waving him on his way. "Got it. My motto."

Sam grinned and rolled up the window as Pete pulled out and the rain let loose.

"Got to admit, never in all my years, have I seen a storm like this." Pete said as the wipers tapped furiously. The skies had just opened up without warning and rain fell fast, hard and heavy, splattering against the glass with loud splats.

"Mmm." Sam laid his head back, eyes burning with fatigue. "Sorry…I dunno, maybe not…..but I'm guessing….you know, Kevin?" he cracked his neck. "Haven't figured it out yet, but...I will."

"Kevin? Have they named the storm then?" Pete chuckled. "I know they do that with hurricanes, but tornadoes? Funny ain't it? Same name as your friend. Guess you found that out from your fancy phone, eh? Got a signal, then? Kinda weird….ain't normal to get one….HOLY MOLY!"

Sam's reflexes were instinctual. One hand braced against the dashboard, the other grabbed for the door and his feet reactively hit the floor as the truck skidded, ass coming around the right and sliding sideways as Pete fought for control. For a second, Sam thought the truck was going over, but Pete managed to keep it on all four wheels and it finally came to a stop.

"You okay?" Pete asked shakily. "Whew! Lotsa water on the road."

"What the hell?" Sam righted himself in the seat. "Fine, yeah, I'm fine…..you?" he didn't get an answer, for the figure Pete has swerved to miss was pounding on the driver's side door with both fists, yelling over the wind and rain. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna find that dumb ass and wring his worthless neck." he launched from the truck, slammed the door closed and rounded the back of the truck. He grabbed the hollering kid by the back of his coat and hauled him off the truck door. Peter clambered out, calling to Sam to be mindful that he was just a boy and not to hurt him.

"WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Sam bellowed, shaking him. "ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED, YOU LITTLE SHIT?"

"Help, I need help! Help me!"

"Why are you out here?" Pete asked. "Why aren't you in the house with your family?"

"My brother! Please, you've got to help us. Help my Dad save my brother!" he begged, crying.

"Don't even say he's out here somewhere." Sam seethed, anger and tension radiating from him in such waves, the terrified boy felt and reacted to it. "Did he sneak out? Did you? YOU DID!"

"NO! I…I…he…we….Dad said...he brought..." the kid stammered, twisting to free himself. "It wasn't raining when we left and…"

"Your dad brought you out here?" Sam bellowed incredulously. "Are you fucking with me?"

"Where are they son?" Pete asked grimly. "Put him down…..hey, come on." he extracted the kicking kid from Sam's one-handed hold and set him on his feet. "Not good with kids are you?" he said to Sam, hand on the kid's shoulder. "Your dad and your brother, take us to them."

Don't say the river, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, Sam silently chanted.

"The river!"

He fucking said it.

Sam kicked the tire of the truck but Pete was opening the driver's door and tossing the kid up onto the seat. Sam hesitated a second too long and Pete pulled away. Cursing – again – Sam grabbed the bed rail, swung around and hoisted himself onto the tailgate. Once Pete was as sure as he could be, peering through the fogged, rain splattered rear-windshield, that Sam was on board and secure, the truck picked up speed.

The boy directed Pete to the bridge. What fallen branches and debris they encountered, Pete was able to navigate around. Sam leapt off the bed of the truck before it had come to a complete stop and ran to the bridge. The railings and pavement were visible and Sam's first thought was; now we can leave. The kid raced past him, screaming for his dad as he ran. Sam pushed all thoughts from his mind and scooped the kid up in one arm before he could fling himself at or over the railing.

Pete came huffing and puffing, letting go of the railing to bend over, hands on his knees to catch his breath. "Little bugger can run." he panted, wheezing. "Ain't so young no more."

"HELLO?!" Sam yelled, kid tucked under his arm like a sack of potatoes. When the waves crested, water sloshed over the railings and swirled across the two-lane bridge, half-way up to Sam's knees, the current strong before subsiding. He didn't trust the kid to fight its unrelenting pull, so kept him captive despite his kicking and wiggling and hollering like he was being spit and roasted. "HEY! HELLO? " he hiked the kid up to his armpit. "You bite me and I'll give you something to scream about." he muttered. It was a bald face lie, but the kid didn't know that and the threat produced the desired effect; the boy fell silent and still.

"DOWN HERE!"

Yup, sure enough. There, perched on the ledge of a cement pillar support, just under the railing where the water first passed the bridge, huddled dumb ass and stupid kid. Sam growled, convinced the kid had fallen over the railing and Dad had gone over after him in an attempt to save his undisciplined hide. He didn't know nor care, nor did he intend to ask what had happened. Once he got dad back on solid ground, he was going to break his knees. 'Cause really, what kind of parent took their kid outside in weather like this to a bridge under water?

"ANYONE HURT?!" Sam yelled.

"NO!"

"THEN MOVE! PUT THE PILLAR BETWEEN YOU AND THE WATER!"

"What we got?" Pete, hunched against the wind and a wave of water, huddled next to Sam. "We need rope? I got some in the truck." one had to lean completely over the railing to see the pillar that was partially beneath the bridge and he didn't have the breath to do that so he depended on Sam to judge the situation.

Sam took a moment to seize up the situation. He might be able to hang over the bridge and grab the kid, but to do that, he had to depend on dad to hand the kid up to him. Yeah, no, not a chance he was willing to take.

"I got it." Sam would make it to the truck and back before Pete so he handed the kid into Pete's secure hold and ran off. Pete yelling after him it was behind the driver's seat. He was back within a minute and tied the rope to the railing.

"You….." Pete began but Sam was yelling at dad to tie the rope securely around the boy. "Sam..."

"I CAN'T!" dad yelled back. "HE'S SCARED!"

"Water's too cold, they both gotta be numb." Pete stood shoulder to shoulder with Sam. "One big wave and…"

"Yeah, yeah." Sam tied knots in the rope, soon had some crazy-ass looking harness he secured around his legs and waist and stepped over the railing. "Pull the kid up, and go back for Earl and Kevin." Sam ordered. "And take both kids back to the house. I don't want to see them again."

"I can't leave you and Mr. Pequinot sitting under the bridge, on a support with that water getting faster and the waves higher and the current stronger. Even with the pillar between you and the water to act as a buffer, sooner or later, a wave is going to sweep you off. It's too cold and it'll sap your strength and…"

"And we're wasting time…" Sam snapped. He might be able to climb the rope back to the dubious safety of the bridge, it all depended on how cold the water was and how strong the current proved to be but even if he could get himself off the support ledge, what about dumb ass? Pete wasn't strong enough to pull either of them up. No, they needed help. "Once you get the kid up, go for help." and he jumped.


	10. Chapter 10

Kevin and Earl entered the house from the front porch. They shed their boots and slickers before padding barefoot into the foyer. Neither was greeted by what they'd expected to find. Earl was stunned to see the foyer and any room visible through a doorway still a complete shambles. Kevin had expected the smell of coffee, soup on the stove and a fire in the fireplace to keep the living room warm and well lit. What greeted them was the distant sound of sobbing hysteria, dying fires, dimly lit rooms and hallways and rooms untouched in way of attempted clean-up.

"Do we investigate or escape upstairs?" Kevin joked.

"I need to check on Edith." Earl replied, eying the embers in the fireplace, the overturned oil lamps and burned out candles that should be lit. "Something ain't right."

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, and I should look in on Dean before Sam has a cow."

"Meet you on the third floor." Earl said, with a shake of his head. How would Sam know if and when Kevin obeyed his edict to check on Dean?

Kevin trudged up the stairs, hauling himself up one step at a time by the hand-railing, wondering what had upset the screaming banshee this time. Not that he really cared, he was so tired and hungry and dirty and wet that if he ever saw another chainsaw in his life he might just be tempted to use it to scare her into silence. Yeah, yeah, that was a good use for it. Anything was better than using it to saw through a tree-trunk four times his girth!

Earl headed for the kitchen where Mrs. Pequinot sat at the table, sobbing into her hands while Edith made half-hearted attempts to soothe her as she swept the floor.

"Edith?" Earl frowned. "Everything okay?"

"Where to start." the normally quiet, easy-mannered elderly lady muttered. "In all my years, all the guests….."

An ear-splitting shriek rent the air from the second floor. High pitched and feminine. Earl started, eyeballed Mrs. Pequinot then stopped in confusion. If she were sitting right in front of him, who was upstairs screaming like a girl? Couldn't be one of her kids, for she hadn't even twitched.

"That would be Kevin." Edith answered Earl's unasked question, shaking collected pieces of a coffee pot from her apron over the trash-can. "Will this night never end?"

By the time Kevin checked every room on both the second and third floor in search of the wayward missing Dean, he was as hysterical as Mrs. Pequinot. He raced into the kitchen, babbling incoherently and unable to calm down long enough to hear what Edith was trying to tell him.

The sound of a slap, rendered three of the room's four inhabits mute. Kevin stared at the little ole lady whose palm print reddened his cheek.

"You hit me!" his hand cupped his stinging face. "You hit me! I can't believe you did that! She hit me! Did you see that? Did you see her hit me? Why'd you hit me?"

"Enough! Mr. Pequinot took his young sons out to see the damage from the tornado." she said briskly, snapping a towel. "Dean didn't seem to think he was capable of finding his way, minding his sons, keeping them safe or finding his way back to the house."

"But Dean….." Kevin's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in dismay. "NO!" he wailed aghast. "He went _outside_?"

"That's what has you so upset?" Mrs. Pequinot snapped. "The fact he went _outside_? How about the fact he went after my husband and my children after he _kicked_ our door down?" she sniffed and hiccupped. "He threatened to tie me up and gag me and lock me in the closet!"

"Maybe he shudda." Kevin muttered, unheard by the women but heard by Earl, who couldn't decide whether to frown or smile. He smiled.

"You could say he scared her." Edith sighed. "She's yet to calm down."

"He's going to kill them!" her pitch matched Kevin's wail. "He had a gun! Two, I believe, and a huge sword!"

"Oh for Pete's sake." Kevin harrumphed. "Dean doesn't kill people. And for the last time, IT'S A MACHETE!"

Mrs. Pequinot drew herself up, but remained sitting rigid in her chair. "He left this house well-armed. This establishment is…"

"I'm sorry." Kevin told Edith. "For being here…for them being here with us….."

"Oh, it's hardly your fault."

"Yes ma'am, I think it is my fault. The storm, I mean. I dunno why though, or what it means. Sam probably does or soon will if he doesn't." Kevin said sadly. "And he's right, we need to leave before someone gets hurt."

***000***

Pete carried the boy he held back to the truck and put him in the safety of the cab with strict orders to stay there. He returned to the bridge and waited for Sam's signal to begin pulling on the rope. Sam wasted no time attempting to communicate with dad. He ruthlessly separated son from father, tied the boy into the rope harness and stood up. Keeping his back to the bridge pillar to prevent the kid from be swung against it meant facing the icy water and the constant deluge of the surging current rapidly depleted his strength. With a sharp yank on the rope, he tossed the boy into the air, out over the water and guided his ascent until he could no longer hold his feet.

Pete felt the yank, understood the signal, braced his feet and began to pull. The boy didn't weigh much, but the rope was wet and slippery, making it hard to hold. Coupled with the fact the boy was soaking wet and swinging uncontrollably in the blowing wind, Pete had a hard time making quick progress hauling the growing weight on the rope to safety. He was slowly making progress though, and despite not being able to see, was sure Sam pushed the boy upwards any time he swung back within reach. Arms shaking, shoulders straining, muscles screaming, seventy-plus-year-old bones groaning, Pete slammed against the rail when the weight on the other end of the rope increased so sharply, he was unable to prevent himself from being dragged forward.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Sam yelled when dad lumbered to his feet, after having done nothing to help and lunged - jumped - for the rope. "LET GO!"

"I'M NOT LETTING MY SON GO UP ALONE!"

"YOU CAN'T GO WITH HIM! IT'S TOO MUCH WEIGHT!" Sam wrestled with dad to force him to let go of his hold on the rope, the boy dangling just above them. The ledge was so not the place for a fight. "DAMN YOU! LET GO!"

"HE'LL NEVER MAKE IT!"

"JUST LET PETE PULL HIM UP!"

The argument continued, their perch on the slippery support pillar becoming more precarious as the waves of water increased in strength and frequentness as well as height. Sam was furious. Yes, the rope was tied off to the bridge railing and if Pete lost his hold on the rope, the kid wouldn't be swept away. If he was lucky, he'd be dumped into the water and if luck wasn't with him, the wind or a wave would smash him into the pillar or the bridge itself, should the wave carry him high enough. Yes, Sam would swim out after him, but strong as a swimmer he was, he was no match for that current.

"LET GO!" Sam threw aside all caution. He was fed-up and seeing red. He slammed dad shoulder first against the pillar, not caring if bone broke. A vicious punch to his stomach was enough to break his hold on the rope and Sam twisted his arms, holding tight until the boy was out of reach.

Pete felt the rope slacken and took the opportunity to regain his balance and begin hauling once more. But the hit against the railing had left him short of breath and winded. The weight on the other end of the rope might as well been an elephant for he was unable to pull more than two times before having to stop and rest. He was too old for this!

He neither saw nor heard the arrival of help but a blur was beside him, wedged against the railing and yelling instructions as he reached for the rope. All Pete saw was an up-turned ass, for whoever had arrived was leaning so far over the railing, he was standing on tiptoes. Within seconds Pete felt the sure, steady methodical pull of the rope, no hesitation and no quarter given. He gave up pulling, unable to keep up with the speed with which the rope coiled at his feet and remained as anchor so no slack was felt in the rope. It wasn't long, not even a minute before the head of a bawling, screaming kid appeared, and was heaved one-handed over the railing and thrown at him. Pete somehow managed to catch the kid but the force of the weight hurled at him knocked him backwards, and unable to find his footing, he landed hard on his ass. He sat stunned, trying to recall if he'd seen head and shoulders appear when he'd been catching the flying kid still in his arms. He was quite sure he hadn't and Earl was not strong enough to have tossed the kid up and over with one hand while still all but falling off the bridge himself. So, the muddle-headed brother was up and out of bed.

Stunned and winded, unable to gather his wits, Pete didn't move but no one came to his aid.

By the time Pete collected those wandering wits, the boy was free of the rope. Pete had no idea how or when that had happened but it and the man who flung kids around one-handed as though they weighed no more than a baseball had disappeared back over the side of the bridge. He put the boy on his feet and dragged him by one arm to the truck. By the time he got back to the bridge, all he saw was the soles of a pair of boots, the feet to which they belonged intertwined in the rungs of the railing.

"Dear God!" Pete breathed. "What the blazes does he think he's doing?"

Soon as Sam saw Dean hanging upside down off the bridge, rope in hand, he knew what his brother wanted him to do. He shook his head, unwilling to tie himself off with the rope until dumb ass was first lifted to safety but Dean was having none of it. Waves engulfed him time and again, yet he swung by his feet, spitting water and continued to wait for Sam's agreement. Sam finally nodded and held up his hand. The rope, after a particularly strong wave tried to sweep it away – one that convinced Sam time was running out – dropped expertly into his hands.

"COUNT OF THREE." Sam shouted at dad, tying himself into the rope harness. Boy was he gonna have some serious rope burns on his thighs after this. "YOU GRAB HIS HANDS AND YOU DON'T LET GO. YOU HEARING ME? YOU FUCKING LET GO AND I AIN'T COMING AFTER YOU!" even if he wanted to, Dean wouldn't let him. "I WILL LET YOU DROWN!"

Sam had no qualms about trusting Dean's strength and ability to see them safely off the bridge pillar. Despite his recent allergic reaction and unfortunate response to the medication given to counteract it, when Sam's life was in danger, Dean could be counted on to master and conquer any and all ailments. With a shake of his head, convinced this rescue would take a huge toll on Dean, Sam squatted down, cupped his hands and held them out for dumb ass to use as a step. As he rose to his feet, he pushed dumb ass up with his hands until relieved of his weight when Dean took it on.

Pete stood right there and watched, but later when asked, he wouldn't be able to relate how, from hanging upside down by his feet, Dean got Mr. Pequinot up and over the railing and onto the bridge. One second all he saw was feet, the next Dean popped up, swinging Mr. Pequinot over the railing and letting him drop to the pavement with more force than was necessary. Pete thought Dean would immediately go back for his brother but he jumped from the railing to the pavement, bent down, grabbed Mr. Pequinot, dragged him to his feet by the lapels of his coat and punched him in the jaw.

"I see you again, I won't just punch you in the jaw, I'll break it." Dean threatened calmly then turned and reached for the rope. "Take your kids and get out of my sight."

"Now, just a minute!" Mr. Pequinot sputtered. "Just who do you think you are?"

"The man who's going to end your ability to produce any further offspring." Dean said dangerously. "My brother is hanging off a bridge because you're an asshole and your kids are brats. You got anything to say about that? Open your mouth, go ahead, I dare you."

Pete tut-tutted but knew it was wise not to interfere. No longer was the man in front of him the befuddled, addled, confused boob who he had helped coax out of a car. No, what he saw before him now, was a take-charge-and-do-things-my-way-and-ask-no-questions clear-headed man used to being in charge and having his decisions and orders obeyed.

Satisfied dad was going to stay down and out of his way, Dean turned to the railing and picked up the rope. "SAM? YOU READY?"

Sam was heavy and even with his limited help, Pete doubted they would get Sam safely on the bridge without the help of Earl and Kevin. Surely they were on their way and he opened his mouth to say so when Dean began to pull. Shaking his head in disbelief, Pete took up position behind Dean to lend what help he could. To his astonishment, Dean soon tied off the excess rope they hauled up and leaned over the railing, this time with his feet firmly on the pavement. Pete saw Sam's hand flail for the railing, Dean reaching out to grab it when out of nowhere, came a hissing, spitting, kicking flurry of twin terrors. They attacked Dean's ankles and shins; kicking and throwing their weight against his side. Apparently, they'd seen the punch that had taken their father off his feet and his failure to get up.

"DEAN!"

"SONUVABITCH!" Dean regained his footing, shaking his leg to free himself from the clinging child attached to it. "SAM! HOLD ON!"

The shortened tied-off rope kept Sam from dropping into the raging waters. It also kept him from being body-slammed back against the pillar or into the bridge itself. What it didn't do, was get him out of harm's way from debris floating and bobbing in the water and he had to pump his legs to first swing one way, then the other to prevent a log from crushing his back.

"DEAN!" the railing was within reach, but his hands were numb, fingers refusing to obey his command to grab and hold tight.

"Yeah, yeah…..I GOT YOU!" balanced regained and leg free, Dean resumed his prior position and reached for the rope. "SAM?"

"YEAH!"

Pete was against any form of abuse or rough-handling or physical discipline against children and never would he raise a hand to a child, but by God, these two had exhausted any good will he felt towards them. He had one by the ankle, the other by the seat of his pants and he dragged them, literally dragged them, across the rough pavement and off the bridge. He knew they wanted to reach their father, but felt they should have done that first instead of attacking Dean. He couldn't wait to see these people off his property.

"DEAN!" Kevin was running at them. "DEAN! SAM!"

"GRAB AND PULL!" Dean ordered.

With the added strength of both Kevin and Earl, the top of Sam's head was soon visible and first one hand, then the other took hold of the rail and he was soon up and over. Dean was there to catch him and Sam allowed the support but Dean couldn't hold him and in a heap of arms and legs and curses, the brothers collapsed to the pavement.

"You good?" Dean asked pushing Sam off his lap but not away. "Sammy?"

"I'm ok." Sam rested for another moment, then disentangled himself from his brother and sat up. "You?" he untied the rope and coiled it to return to the truck.

"Ugh." was the only reply he received. Dean, sprawled on his back, didn't move. "Anything broken?"

"You?" Sam spit water. "Or me?" he patted and flexed and rotated joints and limbs. "I'm good." best not to mention his back had nearly been crushed by a floating tree - Sam was still a bit shaken about that close call - or dumb ass would require an ambulance. He reached to pat down his brother but his hands were knocked away with a scowl. "Stop!" he ordered. "Shoulder ok?" Dean raised his arm over his head to prove it was. "Okay."

"Come." Pete said briskly. "Let's get out of this weather. It's getting worse." how that was possible, Pete didn't know. "Ma will have hot coffee and warm bread ready for us. Call it a night and we'll see how the weather is in the morning."

"Huh?" Dean sat up with a wince. "Ow! You big ox, you weigh a fucking ton." he accepted a hand-up from Kevin and painfully gained his feet. "Shit." he rubbed at his face. "We'll pack up and leave tonight."

"Oh no, you don't." Mr. Pequinot sprouted. "I'll have your names. I will have the Sheriff….."

"After coffee." Pete said firmly, ignoring his much abused guest. "After you wash up and get warm and dry. See to any injuries. Morning's soon enough." he turned to Mr. Pequinot. "And you! You be quiet, I've had enough out of you. You've done enough harm and these young men risked their lives to save both you and your son. You should be thanking them."

"Dawn." Dean compromised grudgingly. "Dumb ass never should have been out here. What the hell ails him anyway? Sam? Who the fuck is he? Talk to me, what's going on? Why are you here? Why am I here? Where am I anyway? And how long have we been here? Weren't you off somewhere buying bibles? Who are all these people? Kids? I don't know them, do I?"

The brothers walked off, their voices fading, Dean asking questions so rapidly Sam didn't have time to answer. Kevin gave Pete and Earl a sheepish grin and shrugged.

"My life." he threw his hands out. "Welcome."

***000***

Pete stood with an arm around his wife. Edith leaned against him for emotional support. These last….what had it been?...two days had taken a toll. Earl stood with them and they watched the silent standoff between the brothers over who was going to drive them home. It was apparent to anyone who had spent any time in their company, the older brother was used to giving orders, having them obeyed and expected both his brother and their young friend to give him his way. For a good minute, neither brother spoke, nor moved, and neither blinked.

No one had gotten any sleep when the bedraggled group had returned to the house. Once it was verified the upstairs windows and the roof were secure, water had been heated, baths taken, injuries treated, clothes washed and hung to dry, coffee and cold-cut sandwiches consumed. Then time - several hours - had been spent putting the interior of the house back to rights. Only after that had been finally accomplished were the brothers and their young friend ready to leave.

"Want me to drive?" Kevin asked, and when ignored, hopped into the back seat, where with a wave good-bye he laid down for some much needed sleep. "Oh!" he popped up. "Dean, did you know…..aah...settle our bill?"

Odd that, that Kevin expected Dean to be the one responsible for paying any debts despite not knowing why they were where they were, how they'd gotten there, or where there even was but Dean gave a slight nod in answer and Kevin laid back down.

Pete caught Earl's eye, who responded with a wry grin and a slight shake of his head. Neither brother was fit to drive any distance but Sam had been adamant about leaving as soon as they could and dismissed Edith's suggestion they leave after lunch so they could get a few hours of rest. He hadn't made much sense, saying they needed to remove Kevin from the house so the storm would subside before it was too late. Too late for what hadn't been discussed. All Earl knew, was he never wanted to have the look currently fixated on Sam directed his way, but the younger brother didn't cower or cave. Standing there, watching and waiting, it occurred to Earl that when Sam decided to stand his ground, it was up to Dean to make the tough decisions in impossible situations – decide whether or not to give in.

Even in the dim light of the coming dawn, the storm raging around them outside the protection of the front porch, he swore he saw the eyes of the man he knew as Sam, soften and turn moist. Saw the set jaw of Dean relax and a muscle tic in one cheek before he tossed the car keys to his brother, walked around the car, opened the passenger door and got in.

"You ever need…..anything…" Sam said, opening the driver's door and talking over the roof of the car. "You call us, you hear? I swear, we'll leave Kevin home and it'll be a lot more peaceful and safe when we come."

Edith frown, raising the corner of her apron to dab at her eyes. Kevin had been no trouble whatsoever but the three men had said several strange things while in residence and she wasn't going to start questioning them now.

"You be safe heading home." she admonished. "You hear? You are bound for home, are you not?"

"Yes, ma'am, we are." Sam got in the car and started the engine.

"Don't be all macho man, pull over if you need sleep." Edith continued, shouting to be heard. "You have all day to get home."

Once the tail lights were no longer visible, Edith, Pete and Earl returned to the house, shutting the door against the cold wind and driving rain. They entered the kitchen together, time to prepare breakfast and brace for another dreary day. By the time coffee had percolated on the stove and Edith had bacon frying, the rain stopped, the clouds lifted and the sky lightened with the promise of the sun breaking the horizon.

"See there." Earl came in the back door and patted Edith's shoulder as he stole a strip of crisp bacon. "Storm's over."

"Good news! Electric's back on." Pete beamed. "Phones are restored."

"Good." she smiled at her husband before turning to the family of four sitting at her kitchen table. "Get out."

***END***


End file.
